All Shall Be Well
by elementalv
Summary: -PART 10 NOW UP- What if Buffy didn't make it out of Hell at the end of S3's Anne?
1. Home Again Part 1

**Summary:** What if ... Buffy didn't make it out of Hell at the end of Season 3's "Anne"? An alternate history of S3 BtVS. 

**Feedback:** Yes, please, may I have some more? 

**Author's Note:** Giles stammers. I loathe and despise typing (and reading) a stammer. Add whatever level of stuttering you feel appropriate when you read his dialogue, and I'll let you know when it's worse than usual. 

**Disclaimer:** Joss Whedon & co. own the characters and world of the Buffy-verse. Compared to that, I own squat. I take that back. I own a cat, two ferrets and two Macs. I have an embarrassment of riches, now that I think about it. 

**Disclaimer 2:** I started this story back in March 2003, but didn't start posting it anywhere until last month — whereupon I found out that Shelley Barnard had also started a story based on the same premise. Neither of us is reading the other's work while the writing is in progress, and I'm told by readers of both that our stories are quite different once you get past the surface similarities. If you're interested in reading Shelley's take on this "what if" scenario, it's posted at Fanfiction.net, story ID 1569586. 

* * *

**Home Again - Part 1**

It was late. Midnight was only moments away, but he neither noticed nor cared about the time as he sat in his office in the school library. He was too caught up in determining where to search next. He'd been to San Francisco, Oakland, Sacramento, Los Angeles, San Diego and points in between, but there had been no sign of her. All summer long, he'd either flown or driven to towns far and near on the off-chance that a lead might pan out. 

None of them had. 

If he'd been a less determined sort of person, he might have given up by now, but one didn't become a Watcher if one was going to lose heart at the slightest setback. He wished he could make Willow, Xander and the others understand that simple reality, but they looked at him uncertainly these days, convinced that he had slipped over the edge into obsession. It didn't escape his notice that they were too cowed by him even to suggest that he was going too far. 

As he absently rolled his head to loosen the muscles in his neck, the clock ticked over to midnight. A few seconds later, a crackle of energy started to build in the library. Had Giles been watching it build, he would have realized the energy build-up was directly over the Hellmouth. As it happened, it was several minutes before the disruptive forces put out enough power to make all of his hair stand on end. 

Grabbing a sword, he bolted out of his office to find a portal opening. When he spotted figures grappling within the energy, he went to the counter, exchanging his sword for the tranquilizer gun. He moved from behind the counter, taking his time to choose the best location to wait for his visitors to appear. He could hear screaming and shouting, and he wondered just what kind of battle was about to erupt in his abused library. He was briefly distracted from the show in front of him as he worried over how he was going to explain this latest damage to Commandant Snyder and the school board. 

The light and sound coming from the portal were horribly distorted as two figures and then a third stumbled through. The first two — one male, one female — were still fighting when he heard the female yell, "Now, Annie! Start it now!" 

Giles looked at the third figure as she started reciting a spell, then took another, shocked look. "Buffy?" 

She didn't respond, and as he listened to her and recognized parts of the incantation, he could understand why. It was clear that she was attempting to seal the Hellmouth, and judging from what he heard, it wasn't a spell that would react well to interruptions. 'When did she learn spellcraft? And from whom?' His thoughts scattered in the face of the vicious brawl taking place in front of him. 

He kept an eye on the two combatants, absently noting that the woman — apparently human — was toying with the male — most definitely a demon. She was distracting him from the portal, keeping him off balance and letting him think he was getting the upper hand. She was allowing him to land blows, but none of them landed particularly well or in vital areas. She wanted him to remain interested in the fight and the hope that he might actually defeat her. 

It would never happen. Giles could tell the woman would win, just by the way she was manipulating the fight. She was too fast, and her movements were too well coordinated to be anything but planned. Cliched as it was, there was no way to describe her skill as anything other than poetry in motion. It was clear to Giles that she knew both her opponent and her fighting arena, facts which disturbed him at a level too deep to break his concentration on the fight. As he continued to watch, it occurred to him that the woman's fighting style reminded him of Buffy's. 

He glanced back at the girl — 'God, she looks like Buffy!' — and saw that she was still completely focused on her task. He could tell that the spell and the fight were reaching a climax. The woman suddenly stopped playing with the male, and in a complicated set of moves, she ended the fight abruptly, forcing him to kneel before the portal with his head pulled back and her knife at his throat. At the start of the last stanza of the spell, the woman slit his throat, aiming the geyser of blood from his jugular at the portal. As soon as the blood met the energy, the portal started to collapse in on itself, and the woman threw the demon into it headfirst. 

The energy disappeared abruptly, and Giles jerked somewhat at the sudden silence and absence of magic. The girl collapsed, her knees giving out suddenly, and the woman staggered over to her, gasping, "Annie? Sweetie? Y'okay?" 

She collapsed next to the girl, and both struggled to catch their breath. Neither had noticed him as yet, and he decided that now might be a good time for introductions. He cleared his throat, then said, "Who the bloody hell are you, and what have you done to my library?" 

The woman jumped to her feet, clearly ready to fight again, and Giles got his first good look at her. She was wearing a leather vest and leather pants. Her hair, long, brown and in dreadlocks, was tied back by what looked to be a leather strap. Her eyes were outlined in black kohl, and there were several scars on her right cheek that formed individual patterns. The scarification was familiar, and he made a mental note to look up the designs. Her arms were likewise covered in ritual scars. When he looked back to her face, he saw amusement and the beginning of a very familiar smile. 

It couldn't be, though. She was a fully adult woman close to his age, not a child of seventeen. He shook his head, even as he thought back to the fight and realized that he knew the fighting style well enough to be able to predict her moves and her eventual victory. Suddenly nerveless fingers lost their grip on the rifle, and it fell with a clatter. He blinked once, then twice. Finally, he stammered, "Buffy?" 

Her smile blossomed, and said, "Hey, Watcher-mine," just before she fell flat on her face. Her collapse broke through Giles' shock, and he rushed forward with a muttered curse. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the girl trying to reach them, but she was as exhausted as Buffy and could barely move. Giles checked Buffy's pulse and noted that it was strong and steady, despite her sudden collapse. There were no obvious injuries, but it was clear that she — and the girl — had pushed themselves too hard for too long. 

He glanced up at the girl and then away again, his mind shying away from the fact that she could be Buffy's twin. That particular question would have to wait until they were all more rested. 'And fed,' he thought to himself, as he ran his hands down Buffy's ribs, checking for damage and noting how terribly thin she was. 

His cursory check done with, he looked at the girl again. There were differences. Her eyes were a deep brown, almost black, and her face wasn't shaped quite the same as Buffy's. Still, there was a definite link between the two. Taking them to Joyce was out of the question, especially given the way she'd received him the last time he visited. His home would have to do, but neither woman could walk at the moment, so he would have to carry them to his car. 

After a long moment, he said gently, "My name is Rupert Giles. What's yours?" 

Her eyes grew large, and she said, "Annie." 

"Do you know who I am?" He winced slightly at the question, suddenly afraid to hear the answer. 

She nodded and said, "You're my mom's Watcher." 

'So much for leaving that question until later,' he thought, staring at her. "I need to take you both to my home, Annie," he said in the same gentle voice. There was no telling what she'd been through, and whether she knew of him or not, there was every likelihood he would frighten her unintentionally, especially if he tried to presume too much too soon. "I'm going to carry Buffy out to my car, then I'll come back for you." 

"I can walk," she said as she tried to stand and failed completely. 

"You're having a hard time just sitting up. I think it's best if you wait. I won't be long. Just rest here until I return, alright?" He tried to keep the worry and strain out of his voice, but he didn't know how successful he'd been. 

At her unhappy nod, he rolled Buffy over onto her back then lifted her up. He walked out quickly, not wanting to leave Annie alone any longer than necessary. He kept a neutral expression, but he was dismayed at how underweight Buffy was. He doubted she weighed more than ninety pounds, even dripping wet. When he got to his car, she didn't stir as he propped her up to open the door. He eased her into the passenger seat, then got in to drive it around to the back of the school. It would be easier to take Annie out through the library's outside exit. 

When he went back inside, he found her where he left her. She was still awake, just barely, and she tried again to tell him she could walk. He ignored her and picked her up as easily as he lifted Buffy earlier. He took her outside and put her in the back of the Citroen. 

He paused for a moment before getting into the car himself. The night had, for obvious reasons, taken on a surreal quality. It would be all too easy to call a dream reality and call reality a dream. He took a deep breath and assured himself that he was, indeed, awake. Then he bent down to look at his passengers. Both were still there — Buffy, unconscious or asleep, and Annie not far behind. 

Reality, then. Not a dream. 

~*~*~ 

Smell was the first of her senses to revive itself. She absently identified Giles' scent on the cloth just below her nose. Funny how scent memory was the strongest. The next odor to intrude was her daughter's. Annie had a spicy sweet smell, and the happier she was, the more pronounced it became. Her girl was definitely in happyland. The last scent to be identified was one that made her stomach sit up and beg. Food. Without a doubt, someone nearby was cooking food. She wondered where they'd found it. 

Her sleepy brain kept bouncing around the fact of the three scents, trying to make sense of them. The only smell that truly belonged near her was Annie's. The other two — Giles and food — just didn't compute, Will Robinson. For one thing, Giles had never met Annie. For another, food had been in seriously short supply over the last few months. 

As she continued to worry at that information, other senses woke up. She was warm and surrounded by softness. Warm didn't make sense. There was blistering heat or sub-zero chill, and anything in between was the result of delusion. Nor did softness compute. Annie was soft, but Buffy was clear on the fact that she was **not** surrounded by her daughter. 

She couldn't tie all the loose ends together. They danced in her mind, evading a logical explanation. And there was yet another loose end — safety. Everything she was, everything she knew told her she was absolutely and completely safe right where she was. That, more than any of the other puzzles, was enough to make her sit up, suddenly and completely awake. 

She blinked in the dim light, trying to figure out where she was and how she got there. As soon as she saw the railing, memory flooded back. They'd done it. She and Annie had done it. They'd escaped Hell and made it home. She allowed herself a soft snort, thinking, 'Home to the Hellmouth. Oh, happy day.' She looked down to her side, watching Annie sleep peacefully for the first time in pretty much ever. With any luck, she'd be out for the next ten or twelve hours. 

Buffy wanted her to stay asleep, and she would have snuggled right back next to her for a few more hours herself if the smell of food hadn't been just a bit too overwhelming. She didn't want to leave Annie alone in a strange place, even if she was only going downstairs. But if Annie woke up alone in a strange place and her mother was gone, she might go into overdrive panic. There was no help for it. She'd have to wake her long enough to let her know she was within shouting distance. 

She shook her shoulder gently and said, "Annie?" 

"Mmn-frh," was the response. 

"Annie. It's Mom. C'mon, sweetie. You in there?" Her voice held a fine tremor of amusement as she tried to break through Annie's dreams. 

"Hmm nrgh." 

Buffy leaned down further, her mouth next to Annie's ear, and tried again with, "Punkin, I'm going downstairs. Come down when you wake up, okay?" 

Annie made another unintelligible noise and rolled away from her mother's unreasonable prodding and chatting. Buffy bit back a small chuckle and crawled out of bed. She was halfway to the stairs when she realized she was wearing a man's t-shirt and nothing else. 'Would've sworn you didn't have it in you, Giles,' she thought as she went down to see just what was on the stove and whether or not he had made enough to feed the army that was she. 

It was obvious he hadn't heard her moving around, and she would have been surprised if he had. She'd learned how to use all the gifts of a Slayer to keep herself and her daughter alive over the years, and stealth was just one of the abilities she'd perfected during her sojourn in Hell. 

She stopped next to his desk and watched as he moved around his tiny kitchen. Intellectually, she knew that only a few months had passed in this world since she ran, but emotionally, it was jarring to see that he hadn't aged twenty years. He looked exactly the same as she remembered him. He was perhaps a bit more careworn, but that was to be expected. Between Angelus playing with him and her running away, he'd had a tough time of it. 

He glanced up at that moment and let out a small shout as he tossed his salad a bit more than he planned to. When he glared at her, she couldn't stop the laughter bubbling up. And god, did it feel good. 

"You know, for someone who's called a Watcher, you might give some thought to looking around every so often," she said between giggles. 

"Ah — yes. Well," he said, trying to calm his nerves and his stammer long enough to say something that made sense. Instead, he found himself looking at her yet again. They'd been asleep for a bit more than nineteen hours. Throughout the day, he'd gone upstairs just to check on the two of them and to make sure he hadn't dreamt up the whole thing. 

He had studied Buffy very carefully, taking time to sketch the patterns that had been cut into her skin. He wondered what had been used to create the hypertrophic scars. Some irritant must have been rubbed into the open wounds, else they wouldn't have been raised the way they were. He supposed they could have been some form of punishment, but the longer he stared at them, the less inclined he was to believe that. He thought the designs were too intricate and carefully done to have been made without her cooperation. Indeed, some even seemed to enhance her natural beauty by emphasizing a line of muscle or her facial structure. He hadn't had any luck identifying any of the designs yet, but many of the books he needed were at the library. They could wait. 

It wasn't just her scars that drew him upstairs time after time. It was the character etched into her face by experience — hard and bitter experience, unless he missed his guess. Even in sleep, Buffy had fine wrinkles around her eyes and mouth, and they didn't look like laugh lines — they were closer to worry lines and frown lines. Based on her wrinkles and Annie's apparent age, Buffy had lived at least fifteen years elsewhere. 

She said, "Giles? I know it's only been a few months for you, but it's been quite a bit longer for me. Any chance of getting a hug here? Please?" 

She gave him her best approximation of the pout she used to be so good at. She only hoped it hadn't turned into something that would make him run screaming into the night. 

"Of course," he said, coming out of the kitchen and moving quickly to catch her up in his arms. 

'Safe. What a concept,' she thought as she hugged him close so she could bury her face in his sweater. 

"Buffy?" His voice was a bit strangled. 

"Hmm?" 

"Breathing — becoming — difficult — " 

"Dammit!" She released him with a rueful look and said, "Sorry. Everything kind of caught up to me. It's been a while since I could feel all snuggled and protected." 

"I shouldn't wonder, considering what you were fighting," he said, captivated by the look of her. She wasn't as animated as she'd been as a girl, but he could tell she was trying to be that girl again. 

"Yeah. Delvok. The bastard," she said as she grimaced in disgust. 

'No love lost there,' he thought. Unsure if she said a title or the demon's name, he said, "I can't wait to hear all about it." 

"You're gonna have to. Especially if that food I smell is destined for my stomach. And even if it isn't, I have to tell you that I'm confiscating it anyway." 

"Oh yes. It's for you. And Annie, when she comes down. I was beginning to wonder if either of you would wake up." 

"How long was I out?" 

"You went down for the count just after midnight. It's now 7:30 in the evening." 

"Same day, right?" 

He nodded and said, "Same day." 

"That would explain why my bladder is jumping up and down and screaming for my attention. Give me a few minutes, and I'll be back to inhale whatever you have on the fire," she said dryly, already walking down the hall. 

He went back into the kitchen to ladle chicken broth into a bowl. Much though he wanted to stuff everything he could think of down her throat, she would need to start slowly. The salad was for him. If she was as malnourished as he thought she was, her system wouldn't be able to handle the roughage. He doubted she would be happy with the broth. 

He set the bowl on the table just as she came back. "Broth?" 

"Broth," he confirmed. 

"And I'm getting broth because I was a bad little Slayer?" She was fast losing the fantasy of mounds of food. 

"Because I doubt you've had much to eat lately. Broth will settle your stomach and allow you to get used to regular meals again," he said, as he pushed her gently into a chair. "And if you're very, very good, I might just be talked into letting you have a poached egg in a little while." 

"You're abusing your sarcasm privileges," she said as she picked up the spoon. "And how the hell did you figure out that food's been on my most-wanted list lately? I was kind of hoping to slip that one past you." 

"When I was checking for injuries, I very nearly cut myself on your ribs," he answered dryly. 

"Ha, very ha. This broth is good. Make it yourself?" Maybe if she sucked up a little, she could get a bit more than a liquid diet. 

"No. A very good friend of mine, Swanson, cooked it. I merely heated it up," he said, taking a seat at the table so he could look at her and know her face again. 

She sipped at her broth steadily, but not quickly. It was clear she'd been through a famine-feast cycle before, from the way she was controlling her intake. There were so many questions he wanted to ask, and he didn't know where to start. 

"Any chance I could cadge a couple of soda crackers from you?" 

"Two. No more," he said, stifling a laugh at her transparent efforts. 

"Two is good," she said as he went into the kitchen. Under her breath, she muttered, "For now." 

He sat down again when he handed them to her, and said, "I want to know everything, but I don't know where to start, and I don't know what to ask." 

"How 'bout the easy one — like why did I run away in the first place?" She surprised herself at how calm she was when she said it. Every time she imagined this reunion, she'd thought she would be emotional when it came to talking about it. She never thought she would be able to talk about the decision to skewer Angel the way she might talk about a decision to buy Nikes instead of Reeboks. 

"I didn't think that would be the easy question," he said, a frown settling into place. 

"Trust me. It's definitely one of the easy ones," she said after she took a small bit of one of the crackers. "But honestly, I didn't realize it would be until just now." 

"Alright, then. Why did you run away?" 

"Mom and I got into a screaming match when I headed out to rescue you and save the world. She told me not to come back if I left the house — and yeah, it took me a while, but I figured out she didn't mean it that way. She was just pissed and let her mouth run away with her again. After I stopped back here to shake more information out of Whistler —" 

"Er, Whistler?" He'd never heard the name before and didn't know what she was talking about. 

"PTB rep, as far as I could tell," she said, not realizing he was even more confused by her explanation. "Anyway, I headed out toward the mansion, and Xander showed up to tell me that Willow said to kick Angelus' ass. The mood I was in, it sounded like a good plan. The two of us went in. Xander got you, Spike turned traitor and got Drusilla out, and me and Angelus started Vampire Slapdown '98. I was just about to run him through when he got his soul back." 

She paused then, to take a few more sips of the broth and another nibble of the cracker. 'Nope. Still no pain. So much for feeling bad about killing my soulmate.' 

Giles said nothing as he imagined the pain she must have felt at that moment. She said, "The timing sucked big time. He'd already removed the sword from Acathla, and Stoneface was getting ready to start its own suckfest. I spoke to him one last time. Gave him a kiss and told him I loved him right before I shoved the sword through his chest and into Acathla." 

"My god, Buffy. What you must have — " He couldn't go on. He was too horrified on her behalf. 

"Not a damn thing compared to what you went through," she said, refusing his compassion. "Don't forget that I studied Angelus pretty thoroughly after he showed up. I knew just what he was capable of, and you have no idea how glad I was to see that you had all of your pieces when Xander took you out." A thought flickered through her mind, and she said, "Oh, god — you do, don't you? Have **all** your bits and pieces?" 

"What?" A blush moved slowly up his neck and face as he understood what she was asking. "Er, yes. Everything is still intact, if a bit twisted in spots. It was a near thing, though. He was ready to take a chainsaw to me, but Spike stopped him. I never did understand why." 

"We made a deal. He said he'd help take down Angelus if he could take Dru and get the hell out of Dodge. It was only good if you were still alive when I got there." 

Giles was shocked. Of all the possible explanations, that was not one he could have or would have imagined. "You teamed up with Spike?" 

She reached out and took one of his hands, saying, "Dealing with the devil was a small price to pay to get you out of there alive. I'd make the same deal again in a heartbeat." 

He squeezed her hand, then said, "And that's why you ran away?" 

"Well, that. And it was clear I wouldn't get a lot of sympathy over having to kill Angel after he got his soul back," she said with a hint of bitterness in her voice 

"Buffy, I would have — " he leaned toward her in his earnest desire to show his support. 

"Not you. Willow and Xander. If I'd thought they could have dealt with my pain without resorting to telling me on a regular basis what an evil bastard Angel was, I think I would have come here instead of running to L.A. I knew I could count on you, but you wouldn't have been enough to protect me from them. Pretty stupid, huh?" She looked at him, unexpectedly feeling like she was seventeen again and had just screwed up royally. 

"No. Not stupid. Just very young," he told her kindly, turning his hand so he could return her grip. 

"I guess. But it's not all bad. I've just spent twenty-one years in Hell, so at least I'm over that whole youthful indiscretion phase." She tried to lighten things up a bit, but she could tell the joke fell flat when his eyes started to tear up. 

He drew breath to respond, but was interrupted by a very loud, "MOM!" 

_to be continued..._


	2. Home Again Part 2

**Home Again: Part 2**

Giles woke up slowly the next morning. He fairly wallowed in the knowledge that he didn't have to plan yet another useless trip to try to locate his wayward Slayer. Instead, all he had to do was wander downstairs to see her. And serve up another meal of broth and soda crackers. He remembered the look of complete betrayal on Annie's face when she realized she **wasn't** going to get to eat everything she could get her hands on. Her pout was far more devastating than Buffy's had ever been, and he was just grateful he wasn't the girl's father. Were he, she would have everything she wanted, just from that one look alone. 

After a stretch that took up the better part of five minutes to complete, he finally left the bed. Both Buffy and Annie made it clear that while the bed was nice, they were more comfortable on the floor with a rug. Since neither would budge from the spot they staked out in front of the couch, he'd finally given in and taken possession of his bed again. 

He pulled clothing out of his dresser, not wishing to wander around in a robe and pajamas any longer than necessary with two women in the house. 'What a pair they make,' he thought as he put on his bathrobe. He picked up his clothes and headed downstairs for a shower. 

After he passed through the living room, Annie opened her eyes at the same time as her mother and said, "Think we can sneak some food before he comes back out?" 

Buffy grinned at her daughter as they sat up and said, "Not a chance. He has eyes everywhere. He'll know." Sitting up, she continued, "Anyway, he's right. We need to go slow until we get back into the habit of eating regular meals again." 

Annie sat up as well, but she was expending an inordinate amount of concentration on her fingernails. Buffy waited for her to speak, knowing her daughter had something on her mind. Eventually she said, "I really am sorry I wigged out last night." 

Buffy caressed her cheek, marveling yet again at the softness of her daughter's skin, and said, "How many times do I have to tell you it's okay? I wasn't surprised, and neither was Uncle Rupert." 

"Yeah, but I punched him — " she said, her face a misery. 

"Yeah, and he should have known better than to get to you before I did. There was no damage, so you don't have to keep beating yourself up," she said, her voice brooking no further argument. 

Annie shrugged, finally accepting her mother's judgement. She'd heard about Uncle Rupert her entire life, and the last thing she'd wanted to do was beat him up. But her mother was right. He probably should have known better. 

"Mom?" She was still studying her fingernails. 

"Yeah, sweetie?" Buffy took the time to run her fingers through Annie's hair, gently loosening the tangles. For the moment, she did nothing with the five smallish braids that fell to the right side of her daughter's head. 

In a smallish voice, Annie asked, "Are you gonna talk to Grandma Joyce today?" 

Buffy was thrown for a loop by the question. She hadn't really had the time or inclination to think about it before now, what with making sure the Hellmouth was sealed — 'And please let it be closed for good this time,' Buffy thought — talking to Giles and taking care of Annie. She looked at her now and said, "I'm not sure. The last time we saw each other, she was kind of kicking me out of the house when I was about as old as you are. I'll talk to Giles about it when he gets out of the shower." 

Annie's eyes lit up at the mention of a shower, another thing she'd heard of while she'd been growing up. They'd never stayed in the towns they captured, so indoor plumbing was something of a novelty for her. She said, "So I can do that after he's done, right? And I can stay in there as long as I want?" 

"As long as the hot water holds out, anyway. But I'd prefer you limit your first time to ten minutes or so. It's been a while since the last time I was all-over clean, and I don't want to wait any longer than I have to for my turn. Deal?" 

"Deal. So do you think Grandma Joyce is gonna go _pralitz_ when she finds out what happened?" 

"Maybe one or two steps past _pralitz_ and well into the territory of _grimmon_," Buffy said, dredging up the memory of her last conversation with her mother. "Either way, you're not meeting her until I'm sure she can behave herself." 

"Are you gonna tell her about Daddy?" Annie hated to sound so uncertain, especially in front of her mother, but the last two days had done a number on her emotional equilibrium, and she was still trying to find her way in this new world where it was safe to sleep the night through and where food was available at any time. 

Buffy gave her daughter a long look, wishing she could reassure her more, but knowing that the only thing that would help was time and getting past the first meeting. She sighed softly, wondering yet again if she should have been so honest with Annie about her relationship with her mother. 'Too late to change your mind now, Summers,' she thought. 'You made your choice, and this is the result.' 

To Annie, she said, "Yes. I'll tell her about Daddy. And I'll tell her about your Grandpa Ian and Grandma Pella." 

"Do you think Uncle Rupert will be able to find their phone number?" 

"It shouldn't be too hard, unless it's unlisted. Too bad your Dad couldn't remember it," she said, her voice tight as she took one of Annie's braids to loosen it. Six years now, and she still missed him with a pain that was as fresh as the day he died. 

"What are you doing?" Annie tried to twist her head away, but Buffy wouldn't let her. Playing with her daughter's hair soothed her in a way nothing else could. She was like her father in so many ways that Buffy felt he was still with her. 

"If you're taking a shower, you need to take the braids out first," she said as she started on the second braid, pleased that Annie was too distracted to notice her mood. 

Annie frowned and said, "But I can put them back in, right?" 

"Sure. Right after your hair is clean," Buffy said, picking up the third braid on Annie's head. "I've been thinking maybe I should cut off my dreads," she added casually, testing the waters. 

"No! You can't! Mom!" Annie's face was a study of unabashed horror. 

"Calm down, child. Why so upset over my hair? It's not like it won't grow back." Buffy tried to keep her tone even, as if cutting off several feet of hair was no big deal. 

Annie was almost in tears when she said, "But it's part of you! There are legends!" 

Buffy tackled Annie's fourth braid — it had gotten a bit tangled along the way — and she said, "Those wouldn't happen to be the legends you started, would they?" 

"It's just — yeah, okay, I started most of them. But they've taken on a life of their own now. Get rid of your hair, and the legends will die," Annie told her with all the passion a teenager was capable of. 

Buffy finished with the fourth braid and started untwisting the fifth and final braid on her daughter's head. "Maybe they **should** die," she said, her voice somber. "We won the war, and we got out of Hell. Why worry about the legends?" 

"The stories are part of the reason the war was won. Remember C'Hilk? They didn't even fight. As soon as they saw your hair, they surrendered." 

Buffy sighed, running her hand through Annie's hair to look for tangles. "It's not like anyone in this world is gonna have a clue about my hair or its history. They won't even care." 

Neither had noticed Giles when he returned. He watched Buffy and thought she suddenly looked a hundred years old when she said, "I'm tired, sweetie. I'm tired of being a legend, and I'm tired of dragging this hair around. It's time to let it go." 

Annie reached up and touched the hair at her mother's temple and said, "It's been a part of you for so long. Guess I'm just afraid it's a Samson deal." 

Buffy laughed at that and said, "I guarantee I'll be as strong as ever once it's cut off. Stronger, maybe, since I won't have to drag around the weight of my own reputation." 

"And the stories?" Buffy sighed at Annie's persistence. For herself, she couldn't understand why they were so damned important. She'd had a job to do, and she did it. End of story, as far as she was concerned. Still — 

"Write 'em down. Maybe you'll get on the bestseller list," Buffy said, grinning slightly. The grin was a small lie, but it was in a good cause. Anything to keep her daughter happy. 

Still unaware of his presence, they both jumped slightly when Giles said, "I think it's a capital idea. And I'll be more than happy to provide the pens and paper." 

Annie jumped up and ran to give him a hug — a considerably gentler welcome than he'd received the night before — and said, "If you think it's good, then I think it's good." She tried not to wince at the darkened lump on his jaw. 

He returned her hug, a bit hesitantly. He hadn't been much for physical affection since his days as Ripper, and these days, he regarded hugs as very special things to be handed out sparingly. When he caught the amused expression on Buffy's face, he realized that hugs were about to become commonplace for him. 

Buffy was still marveling over the fact that she hadn't noticed when he came back in the room. 'Maybe I really can get back to the way I was,' she thought, 'Especially if I can still trust him so completely.' She stood up and walked over to the pair, deciding at last to rescue Giles. She tapped on Annie's shoulder and said, "Ready for your first shower?" 

As the two headed off to the bathroom, Giles went into the kitchen to fix breakfast for them. They had handled the broth well, but Buffy had said no to an egg just yet. He would keep them on broth for a bit longer, adding a cracker with each meal. 

When Buffy returned to the kitchen, he said, "I'll call Joyce this morning and explain." 

She made a face, but said, "No. It's not your problem. It's mine. I'll go over there and talk to her." 

"It's not a matter of whose problem it is or isn't, Buffy," he said as he poured the broth into a pan. "It's a matter of warning her about what has happened. The two of you need to find your footing with each other, and it will be easier to do if you're not the one trying to convince her that you really are thirty-eight years old now." 

"And you think you'll have a better time of it?" Buffy didn't bother hiding her skepticism. 

"Not really, but she already hates me, so being the bearer of bad news won't affect our relationship any," he said as dispassionately as he could manage. 

"She hates you? Nah. Can't see that. She might be royally pissed off at you, but I doubt she hates you," she said, trying to get around him so she could get a whiff of the broth. 

He rebuffed her efforts and refused to let her near the stove. "She certainly gave a good impression of it the last time I stopped by the house." 

"I think she's just pissed. And dammit, let me at the pan," she said, her frustration mounting. 

"No. You'll just try to drink it all down." He was shaking with the effort not to laugh at her. 

"Will not," she said in a sullen voice. 

"Perhaps not, but it **is** amusing to watch you try to get near it," he said as he looked down at her, allowing a hint of laughter in his voice. 

She gave up all pretense at a pout and told him, "I never realized what a sadistic bastard you really are." 

In a bland voice, he responded, "Indeed. The stories I could tell. Get the bowls out, will you?" 

She turned, hunting through the cabinets until she found them. When the broth was sufficiently heated, he ladled a serving for her and made a great show of giving her not two, but three crackers to eat with it. When he sat down at the table, he said, "We really do need to talk about what's happened." 

"I know. But you're talking about more than twenty years of history. Even the summary is gonna take a while," she said, drinking her broth spoonful by careful spoonful. 

"I know that. Why don't we start with how you ended up in a hell dimension?" The sight of her careful and deliberate eating was still painful for him. 

"There was a girl. I can't remember her name, but we'd met in Sunnydale before we hooked up in L.A., and that was how she recognized me," Buffy said between spoonsful of her broth. 

He raised his eyebrows and asked, "Did she go to school here?" 

"I don't think so. I can't remember exactly. It was something to do with vampires, though," she said, frowning in her effort to remember. 

"Why am I not surprised?" 

She grinned at him and continued, "Anyway, she was trying to find her boyfriend and asked me to help. Funny. I can remember the why of it, but not her name. I doubt I'd even recognize her if I saw her on the street." 

"That's hardly a wonder, Buffy. The why of your being stranded there would have made a greater impression on you than the who," he said. "What happened when you tried to find her boyfriend?" 

"I found him, but he was an old man. A day earlier, he'd been in his early twenties, so it was pretty clear that there was some kind of mystical crap involved," she said, disgust coloring her words. 

"I see your language skills have improved with the years," he said in a mild reproof. 

"Be glad I haven't slipped into pidgin yet." She deliberately ignored his look of intense curiosity at her remark and said, "I did some backtracking — either to the food bank or the blood bank — one of the two — and found out where he'd been directed. The front was some kind of halfway house. They looked for healthy kids who wouldn't be missed. I barged in, fell down the rabbit hole and discovered that I was in Hell right along with Lily. Yay me! I remembered her name after all!" 

He smiled at her enthusiasm before asking, "Slave trade, then?" He took off his glasses to polish them, even as he held her gaze. 

"Something along those lines. Humans were captured to do menial work in the factories. They caught demons, too, for other stuff, but I didn't find that out until I'd been there for a while. Damn. I'm getting ahead of myself," she said. She frowned as she reviewed what she had already told him. 

"It's alright. We can sort through it later," he said as he returned his glasses to his face. 

"Yeah, but it's easier if I tell it linearly." She smirked a bit at his look of shock and said, "I **know** you never expected to hear that word come out of my mouth." 

"Unfortunately, you're quite right. Would you like some tea? I think you could handle it," he said, standing to go into the kitchen. 

"Sure. As long as you're making it anyway. Okay, so I'm in Hell, and it's pretty much Lily's fault, 'cause she made me start giving a damn again. They lined us all up, told us we were nothing, then started to make sure we knew we were nothing. They'd ask each person who they were. If they said they were anyone but 'nothing,' the kid got beaten up. Three points if you can guess what I said." 

"'Buffy, the Vampire Slayer,' by chance?" 

"Give the man his points. Brawling ensued with the expected chaos, and I was able to get the current crop back to the portal. Lily was the last to get out, and then the portal closed. Too bad I was stuck on the wrong side of it." 

The kettle whistled. As he poured the water to make the tea, he said, "I imagine a great deal of mayhem followed when you realized you were trapped." 

She was finished with her broth and crackers by that time, so she turned in her seat so she could watch him at work in the kitchen, using the pass-through as her window. "You've got a good imagination. I shouldn't have been able to take that factory down, but they'd gotten kind of lazy where humans were concerned. They didn't expect any of us to put up a fight of any kind, let alone the kind I can start. It helped that there were quite a few people down there who hadn't yet lost all hope. They were the ones who decided to torch the place. I was just gonna stop after killing the guards." 

He looked at her and said, "I take it you decided to help destroy the factory?" 

"There wasn't a lot of choice involved. I wanted to get back to L.A. — or at least someplace in this world —" She stopped, then, overcome with more emotion than she expected to feel. After a moment, she felt in control enough to say, "But the portal there was closed up tight, and the only way to get out and look for another one was to tear down the factory. You know — so they'd have something else to worry about than me." 

"I'm so sorry, Buffy," he said, his eyes downcast as he finished setting the tea tray. All summer, he'd alternated between wanting to kill her for running and wanting to hold her if he could just have her back. Now that she'd returned after spending twenty-odd years in a hell dimension, he didn't know what to do. Nothing he could say would make this better, but he felt he had to try. 

"I just —" He stopped short as he felt her arms come around him from behind to hug him. He had missed her sudden dash into the kitchen. 

In a soft voice, she said, "Stop it. None of this is your fault. I'm the one who made most of the decisions that led to this point. And if you'll recall, I have one **majorly** huge reason not to regret a single one of those decisions." 

In a tight voice, he said, "Annie." 

"Yep," she agreed. Giving him one last squeeze before moving back to the table, she said, "And before Annie, there was her dad. I'll admit the civil war kind of sucked, but without it, we never would have gotten home." 

She sat and watched him bring the tray to the table, waiting for him to rise to the bait. She wasn't disappointed. 

"And you called **me** sadistic. This really isn't fair, you know. You keep dropping all these tantalizing tidbits of information about your life, then you don't follow up." He managed to keep a stern look on his face, but only just barely. He was still somewhat giddy from her return. 

Buffy accepted the cup of tea he poured for her and said, "Relax, Watcher. You'll get the full history, but Annie's the bard. You're better off waiting for her." 

"Waiting for who?" Annie stood just inside the living room, looking more than a little guilty. 

"You," Buffy said. Then, judging correctly as to the cause of her daughter's shame, she added with a grin, "You hot-water thief." 

Annie's answering grin showed her delight, even as she said, "I'm really sorry, Mom, but it felt **so** good. Can I have another one today?" 

Giles answered, "Not until your mother's had a chance. I suppose this means you're part water sprite." 

"No," Annie said, all serious. "They only ever want to kill humans. I can't imagine a sprite ever wanting to mate with one." 

"I — it was — I wasn't serious," he said, his confusion making him stammer a bit more than usual. 

"Oh. Sorry. I get a kind of literal sometimes," she said as she walked to the table. "Um...is there any food?" 

"For me? Yes. For hot-water thieves? Don't think so," Buffy told her as she pulled Annie off balance make her sit on her lap. She met her daughter's brief scowl with a bland look and a raised eyebrow. 

Rather than respond to her mother's unspoken challenge, she said, "I told you I was sorry. But there'll be more hot water later, right?" She directed the question to Giles, hoping he would give her a straight answer. 

"Of course. But in the meantime, I don't think I'd want to cross your mother any more than I could possibly help. She's a bit mean when she thinks she's dirty," he said, daring Annie to join in teasing her mother. 

She accepted the dare and told him in a confidential manner, "Tell me about it. I remember one time — the battle for Da-Ha'ar it was — she took out an entire regiment because they broke her bathtub." 

"Hey! No fair picking on the dirty Slayer — especially with stories you made up. And I might add I'm still dirty through no fault of my own," Buffy said as she held Annie closer. "As punishment, you'll both have to suffer my ripeness." 

"Suffer being the operative word, I take it?" Giles stood up, then, arching his back in a quick stretch. "I think now would be a good time for me to go out and get clothes for the two of you to wear. As fetching as you are in your leathers and my t-shirts, neither option is terribly suitable for going out and about in Sunnydale." 

"I was kind of hoping you might still have some of my old workout stuff tucked away in a closet here," Buffy said as she looked up at him. 

"Bloody — You're right. I do. I cleaned out your locker at school and never got around to taking your things to your mother. I think they're clean," he said, heading upstairs to retrieve the bag. 

_to be continued..._


	3. Home Again Part 3

**Home Again - Part 3**

It was another four hours before they were ready to go shopping, with much of that time taken up by an argument between Buffy and Giles. After she emerged from her long-awaited shower and got dressed, he told her he would drive them to the mall. He vaguely remembered one of Buffy's tirades about how difficult it was to find the current fashions, even there, but didn't think any of them was up to a shopping trip to L.A. 

"Wal-Mart is fine," she said, dismissing his plans without a second thought. 

"But you hate Wal-Mart. I'm sure of it," he answered with a puzzled look. 

"There's nothing wrong with Wal-Mart that a little less corporate dependence on polyester wouldn't cure. We're not going to the mall." Her face was getting a bit stormy, so Annie wandered over to one of the bookshelves. She had no intention of getting dragged into the middle of their spat. 

"Is it the money? Because I can certainly afford a trip to the mall to clothe the two of you," he answered as he tried to understand her inexplicable refusal to go to the one place in Sunnydale she'd actually seemed to like. He fought back his rising ire, reminding himself sternly that she'd literally been to Hell and back, so her behavior would likely reflect that for some time to come. 'Patience and understanding, Rupert,' he reminded himself. 'She needs patience and understanding, or she'll just go away again.' 

"It's not the money, and as soon as we can convert some of our stuff to cash, I'll pay you back," she said as she stalked past him. She didn't understand why he was making such a big deal out of this. She'd told him where she wanted to go, so that should be the end of it. 

"Convert —?" He frowned as he digested that piece of information, then put it away for the time being as useless to the discussion at hand. "I'm not — I don't — Buffy, stand still and answer me. Why not the mall?" 

From there, the argument devolved into a shouting match in fairly short order, with neither combatant willing to back down an inch. Annie buried her nose in a book to hide her smile. Uncle Rupert reminded her very much of her father, just then, in his unwillingness to let Buffy get away with anything without a good explanation. She was also relieved that her mother was starting to behave normally again. Annie wasn't sure how much more of her mother's bizarre personality change she could take, even though it was nice to see her smile and not take things so seriously. 

The shouting itself didn't bother her. She'd grown up in the middle of an army, and yelling was part and parcel of the atmosphere. If she'd cowered in her mother's tent every time someone raised their voice, she never would have gotten to know anyone. She could tell Uncle Rupert was holding his own, and she figured the two of them would get it sorted out eventually — and they probably wouldn't even resort to a duel. 

As for the cause of the dissent, she had no opinion one way or the other. The shopping itself would be a novelty, and she looked forward to participating in what she regarded as a rite of passage for human females. She just hoped she wouldn't disappoint her mother and fail to find the right clothing at the right price. She was perhaps making a bit much of the event, but her mother's stories about shopping at something called sales had been some of her favorites. They ranked second only to the stories about Uncle Rupert. 

As she skimmed through Morley's "Compendium of Demonic Dimensions," Annie kept half an ear on the two adults. It wasn't until her mother said, "I don't want to run into anyone I know," that Uncle Rupert finally gave in and stopped arguing the point. 

"You could have just said that from the start," he said, still a bit irate with her. 

"You could have just taken me at my word," she said, her own voice heating up again slightly. 

Not wishing to sit through another hour of a pointless discussion, Annie broke in, saying, "But then I never would have been treated to one of your exciting fights, right? Let's go already. I wanna shop." 

Giles and Buffy looked at her, both suddenly devoid of any will to continue the battle. He looked at Buffy and said, "She's your daughter. No question of that." 

Still looking at Annie, she answered, "As if there ever were. Let's load 'em up and head 'em out."   
  


~*~*~ 

  
  
Once at the store, Annie quickly lost her uncertainty and dove headfirst into the delight of having new, clean clothes to try on and accept or discard as she wished. If she noticed the reactions of the other shoppers to her or her mother, she gave no sign. As for Buffy, she looked around and spotted an older woman who looked thin to the point of emaciation. She was the one staring hardest, so Buffy returned the look with one of her own. It had been the same stare she used to good effect whenever she interrogated prisoners. George used to tell her the look — predatory and certain — was unnerving. It seemed that Mrs. Sunnydale Shopper agreed with George. She broke eye contact first and wheeled her cart away. Those who'd witnessed the silent confrontation also found they had other things to do. 

Through it all, Giles just watched, mildly disturbed by the blatant dominance games Buffy was playing with the other shoppers. To a greater extent, he could see her point. She looked very different from the typical Wal-Mart shopper, and settling the issue now might prevent a later confrontation. To a lesser extent, though, he felt for the woman. Only demons deserved a Buffy-style glare. 

He shook off his disquiet and stayed with Buffy. She found the clothing section, and they both looked through the casual wear racks, neither of them saying very much. Thinking back to their argument, he said, "You'll have to face them at some point. You won't be able to avoid them forever." 

"Wanna bet?" Her voice was light, but he could see the tension in her posture. 

"It's been over twenty years — for you, at any rate — isn't it time to forgive them?" He pulled out a t-shirt he thought she might like and handed it to her. 

"It hurt, Giles," she said quietly, looking down at the shirt he'd handed her. "Killing Angel was bad enough, but I knew it was the right thing to do. Knowing I saved the world helped me get through the pain, if not the bitterness." She looked up at him and continued, "But Willow and Xander — Why tell me to kick his ass if they knew they were trying to ensoul him? Were they trying to punish me for being stupid enough to fall in love with a vampire?" 

His heart broke at the sight of her anguish, and he could see that she'd been struggling with this question ever since she left. "I don't know, Buffy. I really don't," he said, wanting to offer a hug, but uncertain of her reaction. "But I must say that Willow's message to you didn't make any sense." 

"You mean when she said to kick his ass?" She frowned, focusing on the memory. "But that's what Xander —" 

She broke off as they looked at each other, both coming to the same conclusion at the same time. Giles started with, "He wouldn't —" 

Buffy finished with, "He would. He was being a complete jerk. Remember what he was like when I told you guys about Jenny's spell?" She couldn't believe it had taken her this long to figure it out, but really, after those first few months in Hell, she hadn't done much thinking about anyone in Sunnydale — except for Giles and her mother. 

"All too clearly," he answered as he recalled coming close to beating the boy to a bloody pulp. It had been several months, but the thought of it still was enough to ignite his rage. 

"How much you wanna bet that wasn't Willow's message at all?" Her face tightened, and her scars stood out in stark relief against the rest of her skin. "You have to find out for me." 

He nodded in agreement and said, "Tomorrow's Labor Day, so I won't see them until Tuesday. I'll talk to Willow then." 

"What will you say?" She hated being so uncertain — she'd led an army, for Pete's sake — but at this moment, with everything else that had happened, it was one thing too many to deal with. 

He put his hand on her shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze, and said, "I'm not sure, but I'll find out somehow. Don't worry. I won't tell her about you and Annie until you're ready." 

She nodded, still unhappy, but she suddenly felt better about Willow than she had in years. It was too late to renew their friendship — she had too many years on her compared to the girl — but it wasn't too late to forgive. And speaking of forgiveness, "You can drop me at Mom's house on the way back." 

"Buffy —" He was shaking his head even as she interrupted. 

"It's not your problem. You've already had to put up with more from her than anyone not related by blood should have to. I remember her well enough to have a good idea of just how sharp her tongue got," she said in a tone of voice she normally reserved for recalcitrant generals. 

It was enough to make him pause in his objections. He'd heard Buffy take command of a situation before, but that was when she was still little more than a child. Her tone with him just then brought to mind his Great Uncle Percival, who had served as a major in the Great War. That, even more than the signs of age on her face, was a forcible reminder that she was now an adult. He wanted to spare her this meeting with her mother, but it was clear she didn't need or want his protection in this matter. Nodding finally, he said, "Very well." 

A spark of mischief lit up her face, and she said, "That's it? No more arguing? Yay me. I won!" 

With a wry expression, he said, "It suddenly occurred to me that you're almost as old as I am. You don't need me to fight your battles anymore." 

"Not all of them," she agreed. "But that doesn't mean I don't need you." She brought him in for a hug, deciding on the spot that they hadn't done nearly enough of this sort of thing before she ran away. And really, the man gave better hug than she would have given him credit for when she was seventeen. 

Their moment of reconciliation was interrupted by Annie's return and announcement that she had chosen what she wanted and was ready to leave. "Now, please," she said, the plea in her voice. 

Giles looked at her, concerned, and asked, "Too much for you?" 

"Kind of. Demons are easier to be around. They don't stare as much," Annie said, handing her stack to her mother. 

Buffy dropped her own selections into the shopping cart, then started to go through Annie's choices. She was amused by all the bright colors and wondered how she planned to combine the different pieces. 

After she added Annie's pile to the cart, Buffy said, "I know what you mean about the staring, but we'll fit in soon enough. Anyway, we're almost ready, but somehow, I don't think Uncle Rupert is all that interested in shopping for bras and panties and other unmentionables." 

His sudden flush was enough of an answer, and Buffy herded her daughter gently toward the appropriate department. A half-hour later, the three of them caught up to each other and headed toward the checkout. "I can't believe how many incredibly beautiful things there are here," Annie said, her eyes still alight with excitement as she continued to scan the store. 

Giles frowned, then tried to look at it from her point of view. "I suppose you're right, though I'm not sure I would have used that turn of phrase to describe the contents of a Wal-Mart," he said, a slight smile on his face. 

"Never thought I would either," Buffy said. "But compared to Hell, anything in this world is bound to look better." 

Annie looked from her mother to Uncle Rupert, then said, "I'm missing something, aren't I?" 

"Just a touch of snobbery, dear," he answered. "Nothing for you to worry over." 

"Whatever. So what's next?" Annie asked. 

"I'm — uh — Uncle Rupert is gonna drop me off at Grandma Joyce's house," Buffy answered. "I thought the two of you could get acquainted while I'm gone. Maybe you can tell him how we got home." 

"Or maybe I could tell him about Daddy?" Annie played with her hair as she waited for her mother's reaction. 

Buffy smiled and said, "I think that would be the perfect thing."   
  


~*~*~ 

  
  
Giles pulled away from the curb as soon as Buffy got out a few houses up from her mother's. She told him she didn't want to give Joyce any more ammunition than strictly necessary, and he agreed with her even as he deplored the reasoning behind her comment. Annie took the opportunity to slip into the front seat when Buffy got out. 

As they headed back to his apartment, she said, "I wonder how long she'll be?" 

"Depends on how long it takes to convince Joyce that she's really her daughter," he said, glancing at her briefly. 

"So should I plan to make camp for the next few weeks, or should I pack our gear to leave quickly?" 

He let loose a sharp bark of laughter and said, "I'm not really sure. Your mother comes by her stubbornness honestly, and I doubt she'll leave until Joyce at least concedes the possibility that her daughter was in a hell dimension and is now quite a bit older." 

Annie nodded sagely and said, "No need to tell me about it. I've been on the wrong side of one of Mom's stubborn streaks. I feel sorry for Grandma Joyce." 

"I feel sorry for them both" he said, serious once more. "It's hard enough to find one's footing with a parent when both have aged at the same rate." 

Annie turned in her seat to face him and said, "What about you?" 

"Hm?" 

"You. I haven't seen you get completely weird yet, so you must be doing okay, right?" 

With her head cocked to the side just so, it was all he could do not to call her "Buffy" when he answered, "I'm much better at hiding my emotions than Buffy and Joyce are." 

"Is that what British reserve means?" Her voice blended curiosity and amusement in equal measure. 

"Where on earth did you hear that phrase?" 

"Daddy. He was from Ireland," she said. 

"Ah. In that case, I imagine he had quite a bit more than that to say about the British." 

Her chuckle was all the answer he needed. He invited, "Tell me about him?" 

"He was a researcher before he landed there. He'd been studying the origins of the Vorgule class of demonic languages when he was taken. They needed someone like him," she said softly. "They needed someone who could learn new languages quickly so they could communicate with their slaves. He was the perfect choice." 

Giles frowned at that. It didn't jibe with what Buffy told him earlier, so he said, "But I thought humans were only used in the factories." 

Annie was silent for so long that he took a quick look, just to be sure she was still sitting there. He jumped slightly when he saw her staring intensely at him. "Have you ever heard of braachen demons?" 

The question came out of left field, and he said, "What?" 

"Braachens. Have you ever heard of them?" Her voice lost none of her intensity. 

"Well — yes. I have. They're sort of — er — balancing demons. They're a bit like humans in that taken as a whole, they're neither particularly good nor particularly evil," he said, slipping effortlessly into lecture mode as he turned onto his street. "The original group claimed they were escaping from war in their own dimension." 

He was pulling up to the curb in front of his building when she said, "Do you know where they ended up here?" 

He turned off the key and said, "Well, yes. In Ire —" He blinked, then turned to her and finished, "In Ireland. About three hundred years ago, if I recall correctly." 

"What else do you know about them?" She continued to watch him, and he thought perhaps she was waiting for him to react negatively. 

"In general, they're fairly peaceful, though they've been known to join their Irish hosts in battle against the English. They're stronger than humans, but they prefer academic rather than physical pursuits." When she didn't say anything, he continued, "I believe a great many of them emigrated to the United States and Canada during the years of the potato famine." 

"Many, but not all," she confirmed. She took a deep breath and said, "Daddy was half braachen. On his ma's side." 

Giles held himself still. She had led him gently to the information, so it wasn't as much of a shock as it might have been otherwise. He waited to see if he was upset by the news, but he was interested to find that he wasn't. Whoever Annie's father had been, Buffy had loved him well enough to have a child with him. Human, demon or combination, his genetic heritage was largely irrelevant, once Buffy's love was taken into account. He firmly repressed the memory of Angel. 

Cocking his head slightly, he said, "That explains why he didn't end up in the factories, then." 

She hadn't realized how tense she'd become until she saw that he wasn't upset over the fact that she was part demon. She didn't try to stop herself as she pushed awkwardly across the seat to give him a hug. 

"What's this for, then?" He tried to pat her back, but she'd completely pinned his right arm to his body, and her other hand grasped his upper left arm. 

"Just for being the way Mom said you would be. She was pretty sure you wouldn't go _pralitz_. She figured you'd be pretty happy, considering her last boyfriend was a vampire," she said, her voice muffled because her face was buried in his shoulder. 

He sat there feeling awkward and ill-equipped to handle the girl's affection. When he judged the embrace had gone on long enough, he moved away from her a bit to look at her face and asked, "_Pralitz_?"   
  


~*~*~ 

  
  
Buffy sat perfectly still on her mother's couch. For the last three hours or so, she'd been treated with disbelief, disrespect and dismay. She'd spent the first thirty minutes on the porch, trying to recall every single memory that would mean something only to her and Joyce before she was finally permitted entry. Even then, Joyce had gone on the assumption that Buffy was lying about who she was, and so the next two hours, she was accused of treachery one minute and being accepted as Buffy the next. 

Joyce was still going fairly strong in her accusations, but it was clear she had run out of new and vicious accusations. Buffy reminded herself every few minutes that all she had to do was wait Joyce out, and that for a woman who'd run more sieges than she cared to think about, it was a fairly small task. 

At the moment, her mind was only barely engaged by Joyce's rant. For the most part, she was running through a list of things to take care of or to ask Giles to handle. Getting a revised birth certificate for herself and one for Annie was at the top of her list. Without that paperwork, neither would be able to get a passport to go visit George's parents in Ireland. Social security cards would also be nice, and she figured the Watchers' Council could help with that stuff. She'd heard quite a few stories in Hell about the organization that was ostensibly fighting for the side of good, and none of the tales was pleasant. Of course, there was a certain bias in that demons were the ones to relay the information, but the rumors and stories had been fairly consistent, with concrete details usually lacking in urban legends. 

"Are you even listening?" Joyce had stopped pacing and stood there, glaring down at her. 

"Sorry, but no. You started to repeat yourself an hour ago, so I didn't see the point," Buffy said equably. "Did I miss something new?" 

"Don't you dare get smart with me, young lady!" Her tone sounded exactly as it always did when Joyce used those particular words on her. 

"So are you ready to finally admit I'm Buffy?" She looked up at her mother and waited with a neutral expression. Joyce's anger seemed like it might still be going strong, and Buffy didn't want to throw gasoline on an open flame. 

The question, however, deflated her mother. After a small sigh, Joyce's face started to crumble a bit. As the tears started to flow, she said, "I just can't believe that you —" When she started crying harder, Buffy stood up to lead her to the couch to sit down. It felt strange to comfort her mother, but really, it wasn't much different than holding Annie during a weeping spell. 

Joyce's tears eventually slowed down, and she looked at the woman her daughter had become. She wasn't happy with what she saw, and that wasn't even taking the scars into account. Buffy's face had taken on a hard look — one that said she'd been through too much to ever be soft again. It was a face that had been witness to cruelty and death beyond imagining, and it was a face that looked as if its owner may have been responsible for at least part of what it had seen. For a moment, Joyce looked at her daughter and was afraid — and then the moment passed. Buffy's face simply looked older and a bit colder. 

She shivered slightly before moving out of her daughter's arms and saying, "When did you get back?" 

Buffy forbore mentioning that she'd already told her twice. Joyce hadn't been in the mood to listen earlier, but now she might actually absorb what she was told. "Yesterday morning, just after midnight," she said, watching her mother's face tighten at the information. 

"And you're only just now stopping by to visit?" 

It hadn't been easy, but George **had** managed to teach her a certain amount of patience. Buffy took a long, slow breath before answering, "Since I was asleep for almost thirty of those hours, I don't think you have much to complain about." 

Joyce bit back her immediate response with a visible effort. Her daughter had returned — more than twenty years older, yes — but she had returned. Her baby was home, and now was not the time to get into another fight. "I haven't changed your room at all. I kept it for when you came back." 

Buffy blinked. Joyce's statement made it clear that she expected her to move in and continue as before, but that was impossible. She braced herself for another tirade before explaining, "We're staying with Giles." 

She wasn't disappointed. Joyce's face grew an alarming shade of red as she spit out, "That man. If it weren't for him —" 

"— I would be dead. Period. End of discussion. He's not the one who chose me, Mom. He's the one who taught me well enough that I managed to stay alive for over twenty years in the middle of a war," Buffy said firmly. She wanted this particular nonsense between her mother and her Watcher to end, because if it came down to a choice between one or the other, she would choose Giles. She wouldn't be happy about it, but of the people she'd wanted to see again, he had been at the top of her list. 

On top of that, she was faintly amazed that Joyce had ignored fourteen different statements that indicated she hadn't returned alone. She was beginning to wonder if her mother would ever get around to questioning her constant use of the word, "we." 

"You were seventeen years old, and you had this relationship I knew nothing about with a man old enough to be your father," Joyce said, her tone sharp, her pain clear. 

"Don't make it sound like that! We've never had sex — he's never even so much as looked at me the wrong way — and I won't have you accusing him of seducing a minor," she answered, her voice low and a more than a little angry. "As for the secrecy, kindly recall that the last time I tried to tell you about vampires, you and Dad put me in a mental institution." 

She made no effort to soften the reminder, because she wasn't willing to ignore that little piece of family history any longer. She'd allowed it to shape her decisions when they first came to Sunnydale, and in the end, it led to a different kind of madness. If Joyce couldn't deal with her own responsibility in the event that led to Buffy's determination to hide her calling, then all bets were off. 

Joyce cringed inside when Buffy spoke of that time. She and Hank honestly thought they were doing the right thing for their daughter, and when she came home at last, they felt that talking about her delusions would only cause more problems. The two of them had been so determined to put it out of their mind that she hadn't even made the connection until Buffy mentioned it just then. 

She couldn't look at Buffy when she said, "I'm sorry," but the words were the important thing. 

"Accepted. And Giles?" She'd learned a great deal in the last twenty-one years. One of the most important lessons was to keep pushing during a negotiation until the primary points were won. Her mother didn't stand a chance against her, and Buffy realized she didn't feel even a little bad about that. 

"I still —" Joyce stopped speaking when she looked up at Buffy's face. She had that cold look again, the one that had frightened her earlier, and she understood at last that either she accepted Giles as a fact of life or she wouldn't see Buffy again. For a brief moment, she thought perhaps that would be for the best, but then the memories came rushing in. And even in the stillness of her daughter's hard gaze, Joyce thought she could still see the little girl who played at being a superhero with her cousin. 

She took another breath and began again, "Giles is a part of your life. I won't speak ill of him again." 

"To anyone?" For the first time, Buffy started to feel a bit guilty about putting her mother through this, but she'd learned the hard way that loopholes were dangerous. She didn't want him getting fired because she failed at this moment. 

Joyce felt and looked as if she'd just been slapped. Pride stiffened her spine, and with as much dignity as she could muster, she said, "Of course not. How could you even ask?" 

It didn't show on her face or in her posture, but Buffy suddenly realized she'd gone too far. Her mother had her faults, but going back on her word wasn't one of them. "I apologize," she said as formally as possible. "I've had contact with too many politicians over the years, and they could weasel their way out of a contract with the devil if they thought it was in their best interest. I had no right lumping you in with them." 

Despite the apology, Joyce was furious. She remembered the last time she'd gotten this angry, and she didn't want a repeat performance, but if Buffy stayed, that was what would most assuredly happen. In as calm a voice as she could manage, she answered, "Apology accepted. I think, however, it would be best if you returned to Mr. Giles' home. If we keep talking right now, we'll just end up where we were in May." 

Buffy's response was as calm and stiff as her mother's. "I think you're right. Do you want to try again tomorrow?" 

"How about tomorrow night? Perhaps you and Mr. Giles could come for dinner," she said, offering the only olive branch she could manage for the time being. 

Buffy considered Joyce's counteroffer, but she wouldn't leave Annie alone this soon, and it clearly wasn't the day to make her mother understand she had a granddaughter. "No. I think you and I can handle this without a referee. We still have a few things to discuss, and I'm not sure either of us is up to having a witness just yet." 

She stood up to go back to Giles' place, but she couldn't leave her mother's house just yet — not when they were both so stiff with one another. Her voice softened slightly as she added, "It's been hard for you, I know, but I really am glad to see you again, Mom." 

Joyce's own posture softened in response, and she said, "Oh, baby — I'm glad to see you again, too." 

For the moment, both of them meant every word, and it was enough. 

_to be continued..._


	4. Home Again Part 4

**Home Again - Part 4**

When Buffy returned to Giles' home, it was with a heart not quite as burdened as she'd expected, but not quite as light as she'd hoped. Joyce had accepted her far sooner than Buffy's most optimistic predictions, but the woman had been so focused on recrimination that she never got to hear about her granddaughter. Perhaps they would be able to move beyond the blame stage the next night. For all that Buffy had tried to keep Annie from getting too excited about meeting Joyce, she really did want her mother and daughter to get to know one another. Joyce had been cheated of seeing her own daughter grow into womanhood, but maybe Annie could help make up for that, just a little. 

It was with those thoughts swirling around in her mind that she opened the heavy oak door to the sounds of her daughter and her Watcher giggling. She plastered a grin on her face and hoped it would be enough to fool Giles into thinking everything was good. Annie would know it wasn't, but then, she had the benefit of being able to smell the truth of her mother's moods. Giles, with his piss-poor human nose would only be able to go by body language and voice. Buffy just hoped her ability to lie convincingly had improved over the years. 

"Hey guys! What's the funny?" She stopped short as both turned to face her. Annie had a look of deep concern on her face, and Giles — 

"Buffy, what's wrong? Didn't it go well?" His frown was deeper than Annie's. 

'Damn. So much for being able to lie to him,' she thought as she tried to decide what to say. In the end, she gave up on the pretence and said, "It didn't totally suck. I'm going back tomorrow night for dinner." 

"She's still alive?" 

"Cute. You know perfectly well I have a rule against slaying family members. If I didn't, you would have been in the ground long ago." Buffy arched her back, grimacing as she felt her spine crack. She said, "I think I need another shower. Maybe soak some of the tension out." 

Annie asked, "What did she say about me?" 

Buffy's shoulders drooped when she answered, "We didn't get that far. I figured I was doing well just to get her to acknowledge I'm her daughter." 

"Oh," Annie said, her chin dropping to her chest. 

Buffy went over to where her daughter sat and knelt before her. She lifted Annie's chin so she could look her in the eyes and said, "We're meeting again tomorrow, sweetie. She invited me to dinner — which is a good thing — and I'll catch her up on the family history then." 

"Really? I mean — good. Sure. Got —" 

"Annie," Buffy said, interrupting her daughter's pending babblefest. "Things went better than I thought they would, but Grandma Joyce and I had a lot of ground to cover. It could have been worse — she could have refused to believe me. Let me get cleaned up and into something else to wear. We can talk while we eat, okay?"   
  


~*~*~ 

  
  
Dinner had been difficult for the three of them, and they were all glad to leave the table for the sitting area. Buffy had done what she could to reassure her daughter, but the reality was that Joyce still didn't know about her granddaughter. She really didn't want Annie to feel like she was some deep dark secret, but her daughter was the impatient sort. She'd always wanted everything to happen right NOW, and anything that got in the way of that tended to make Annie feel as if she were going backward. 

Finally, though, Annie said, "Did you at least have a nice visit?" 

"I think I had more fun listening to T'Granc whine when I snapped off his wings, but all things considered, it could have been worse," Buffy said, watching her daughter's face carefully. She sounded okay about Joyce, but that was no guarantee of her true emotional state. 

So intent was Buffy on Annie's reaction that she entirely missed Giles'. He'd gone perfectly still at the casual mention of torture, hoping it was a bad joke on Buffy's part. But Annie had accepted the statement at face value, and he was left with a horrifying image of his Slayer, of Buffy deliberately inflicting pain on someone for hours on end. His mind was replacing Angelus' face with Buffy's, and every time he tried to clear his mind, they just came back in new variations. 

Annie was the one to notice his pallor. She half stood and said, "Uncle Rupert?" 

Buffy turned to look at him and added, "Giles! What's wrong? Annie — get some water. I saw cups in the cupboard over the sink." She went over to sit next to him on the couch, putting her arm around him in an attempt to comfort him. 

"Torture? You had to use torture? You couldn't have just killed the person?" He spoke barely above a whisper, his voice shaky. He unconsciously started rubbing his right hand, remembering the pain inflicted by Angelus. He could almost feel the dull throb of his left shoulder after it had been partially dislocated when Angelus, in a fit of rage, used his arm to throw him against a wall. Even now, three months after the fact, he still suffered aches and pains in various joints. 

"A demon," she said, looking at him worriedly. She knew he'd been through hell himself, but he couldn't honestly feel sympathy or compassion for a demon. She continued, "T'Granc was a demon — one of the evil ones — he had information I needed, and the only way to get it was torture." 

His eyes were on her, but he wasn't seeing her when he said, "Angelus wanted information. Hour after hour, he tortured me. Because I had information he needed. And that's what you did, isn't it?" 

Annie was back with the water, and Buffy took the glass, holding it up to Giles' mouth and saying, "Drink this." It was a stupid thing to do, but she had no idea what to say to him. He was taking her actions far too personally, but at the same time, she could almost see why. 

"Mom?" Her voice was tentative. She had no idea what was wrong with her mother's Watcher, but she knew it was fairly awful. 

Without looking away from him, Buffy said, "Not now, Annie." 

She stood there for a moment, undecided about what to do. His reaction made no sense to her — torture was a necessary evil — but the way he was acting seemed to make sense to her mother. After another moment, she went to the closet where they stored their packs and pulled out her short sword and its back sheath. Sunset would be coming soon, and Annie didn't want to be caught without a way to defend herself. She went to the desk and pulled out a sheet of paper to write a note for the two, then tacked it to the wall. 

Annie glanced back once and saw her mother still comforting him. Without another word, she left the flat and closed the door behind her. Mom would yell at her when she got back for taking off like that, but she didn't think she had much of a choice. The moment had been too private for a witness.   
  


~*~*~ 

  
  
It was past sunset, now, and Annie debated going back to Uncle Rupert's home. Her mother wouldn't be too pleased with her for going out on her own, but really, Sunnydale was pretty safe compared to everywhere else she'd been. Though her mother had warned her, she'd still been taken aback at how much wasted ground there was around each house. As far as she could tell, no one grew their own food, despite having land to call their own. It didn't matter to her that food was available for purchase, because one never knew when the food might disappear. 

She'd walked a number of neighborhoods, her disapproval increasing with every block, before deciding at last to go the city center. The residents of Sunnydale had never known what it was to be in the middle of a war, and Annie realized it was stupid to get angry about that. She should be happy for their sake that they didn't know what it was to have an army roll through, but instead, she was passing the worst kind of — 

Her train of thought was derailed when she heard a scuffle down one of the alleys, and she paused, considering her next move. It was late enough for vampires to be out and about, and she had her sword, but she was still very new to this world. She had no way of knowing if the vampire was working for a stronger demon, and if that were the case, she might bring a considerable amount of trouble down on her head. After another moment, a very human cry of pain decided her, and she poked her head around the corner of the building to see what was happening before barging in. 

Two figures were struggling, but the lighting was confusing, and she couldn't tell if both were human or not. She pulled her sword out of the back sheath and crept nearer, keeping close to the building. A few feet away from them, her sense of smell told her that the taller one was human. The shorter, bulkier one was definitely demon. 

As the two grappled, she cursed herself for being stupid enough to leave without a stake. Her mother had always spoken of using a stake when fighting vampires, but until that moment, it never occurred to her to wonder why, especially since decapitation was so much safer. Now, of course, seeing a vampire getting ready to feed, it made perfect sense. A stake could be aimed at the heart without injuring the victim of the attack. A sword, long or short, was useless in this situation, so she put it away again and looked around the alley. 

It didn't take long to find what she needed — the people of Sunnydale were remarkably careless with their property — and she managed to snap off a piece of wood from something that looked like it might have been part of a crate once. The sharp crack did nothing to distract the vampire, so Annie found it remarkably easy to walk up from behind and stake it. Just before the creature turned to dust, she thought she heard it say, "What the —?" 

The vampire dust had its usual effect on her, and she spent the next few minutes bent over, her hair hanging around her face, as her nose tried to clear itself of the irritant. Her eyes were watering badly, and for some reason, the man kept trying to shove a white cloth at her. 

Finally, he said, "Here. To wipe your nose. I promise it's clean." Since he all but shoved it into her face, she accepted it and used it to clean up the after-effects of her sneezing fit. 

When she was done, she looked up at him and offered the cloth back, saying, "Thanks." 

She would have introduced herself, but he blurted out, "Buffy!?"   
  


~*~*~ 

  
  
Giles accepted a glass of scotch from Buffy, and he forced himself not to lecture when he saw that she'd poured herself a glass as well. She had taken the chair while he remained on the couch, sipping his drink and still trying to come to terms with what she'd told him of her methods of interrogation. Granted, from what she had said, torture was standard practice in that dimension, but he was appalled that she had lowered herself to do the same thing. She was human — the Slayer, for god's sake — yet she spoke of torture as casually as she'd once spoken of musical groups and the latest fashions. Worse, Annie seemed to accept — 

"Annie!" He looked around, panicked that he hadn't even thought of the girl since Buffy's revelation. 

"Relax, Giles. She went out a while ago. She left a note," Buffy said. She was outwardly calm, but since finding her daughter's note over an hour ago, she'd been planning some fairly exotic punishments to express her displeasure. It wasn't that Annie couldn't take care of herself, because she could. She'd been taught by some of the best fighters in the pan-dimension. But she was very much afraid that Annie would run into people who might mistake her for her mother, and Buffy just wasn't up to dealing with that at the moment. 

"It's too dangerous," he said, becoming agitated. "God only knows what she'll run into out there." 

"She's got five demon kills to her name, and she's dusted her share of vampires," she answered, putting her drink down to join him on the couch again. She put her hand on his back and rubbed it in a slow, circular motion before continuing, "The only problem she'll have is if she forgets to hold her breath. She's allergic to vampire dust." 

"She's what?" The statement was so absurd that he was shaken out of his dread for the girl. 

She smiled wryly and said, "Stupid, isn't it? The daughter of the Slayer and a — wait — Annie told you about George, didn't she?" 

"Braachen, yes," he answered absently. Her hand felt quite good on his back, and the rubbing soothed him considerably. It didn't make him forget what she'd told him, but somehow, it made her confession a bit more surreal. Surely hands as gentle as this couldn't possibly have broken bones or — 

"Yep. And we'll need help locating his parents, by the way," she said, grateful to finally be getting off the topic of all's fair in Buffy's war, including torture. "They're in Ireland — his whole family is. None of them ever left. They'll want to know what happened to him. That he left a daughter behind." 

Giles blinked as he took in what she said. It was perfectly natural that Buffy would want to get in touch with Annie's other grandparents, but it was apparent that she no longer wished to discuss her behavior during the war. 'Perhaps it's as well,' he thought to himself. 'I don't particularly care to discuss it any further myself. If nothing else, at least you've gotten over the notion that she hasn't changed since you last saw her.' 

Out loud, he said, "Of course. I'll get in touch with the Council tomorrow. They should be able to help." 

Grateful he was going along with her change of subject, she decided that now was as good a time as any to mention another request. He might not be happy about it, but it was important, and she figured she'd be able to talk him into it. "When you call, tell them to send Kendra's replacement here." 

"What?" He looked at her — really looked at her — for the first time since she'd come back from her mother's house, and he saw the same weariness that had crossed her face that morning. 

"I've been fighting for twenty-three years, Giles. I'm tired of it. I'm tired of never being able to rest, and I'm tired of having to fight for my life every single day," she said, surprising the hell out of herself. When she'd thought of what to tell him, of how to explain, she'd decided to just leave it at her being too old to be an active Slayer anymore. She hadn't expected to pour her heart out. 

His voice quiet, he answered, "Of course. I hadn't even thought that far ahead yet, but you're right. Kendra's replacement should be sent here." 

"What's her name?" Buffy left off rubbing his back and leaned to get her drink from the side table. 

"I don't know. Council haven't seen fit to share that information with me," he said, sounding a bit irritated. 

"They can tell you tomorrow when you call." And then she asked hesitantly, "What will you say about me?" The Watchers' Council had been one of her few worries about returning. The organization had a reputation that managed to be even worse than hers, and she wasn't entirely certain she was up to taking the group on if she had to. She didn't doubt they'd get nasty about Annie's background, but she had one or two pieces of information that should keep her daughter safe, and she wasn't above a little blackmail. 

"The truth, more or less. They don't know you ran away — I kept that from them — but it shouldn't be any problem explaining how you ended up in Hell." He took a deep breath, thinking about Travers' reaction to the news. It wouldn't be good, and he would likely place the blame squarely on his shoulders, but he would survive. 

"Good," she said. Buffy was about to mention the need for identification papers when the door crashed open, and Annie came running in, looking as if all the hounds of hell were at her heels. Just as she was ready to get something — anything — from Giles' weapons chest, someone else came in. 

Buffy froze in place and whispered, "Xander." 

_to be continued..._


	5. Home Again Part 5

**Home Again - Part 5**

He'd seen her. He knew she wasn't a figment of his imagination, because hey! What other short girl could wield a stake with that much competence, right? So yes, he'd seen Buffy. Of course, it didn't explain why she'd run as soon as he said her name — and sweet merciful Zeus, was he ever going to learn that running through town was a bad idea for someone who didn't do all that much running to begin with? 

Slowed as he was by the stitch in his side, Xander was a bit surprised that he was able to keep up with Buffy. After an initial burst of speed, her running had slowed to human normal. He figured she must want him to catch up to her, but not too quickly. 'Yeah. That's it,' he thought. It was a way to distract himself from the very real fear that he wasn't going to die by a tragic and random barbecue fork incident, but would, instead, be dead at the age of eighteen by heart attack. 

As he rounded a corner, he saw her disappear into a very familiar apartment complex. "Great ... Giles' place ... can die ... inside," he panted out, wanting to hear his voice one last time. He pushed himself to follow Buffy through the door, and found himself face-to-face with some kind of wild woman — who knew his name. 

"Buffy ... get your ..." He tried to get the rest out, but he'd just run two miles too many, and he needed to catch his breath or die. He wasn't entirely certain which option he was hoping for. He vowed at that moment not to skip gym or Giles' training sessions for the nonchosen ever again, because really, it wasn't manly by any stretch of the imagination to collapse from oxygen deprivation right before a fight was going to start. 

He felt a hand on his back and heard Giles ask in a low voice, "Are you going to be sick?" He hadn't known what humiliation was until that moment. Bad enough that he was doubled over. Worse that the one man he knew and respected was asking if he was going to hurl. He thought about that for a moment, then realized there was something even worse — he really didn't know if he was going to toss his cookies or not. 

Giles, his hand still on Xander's back, said, "I'm going to take him into the bathroom and cool him down a bit." 

"Better move fast," Buffy said. "I don't think he's going to hold it." 

"Moving." Giles had already turned Xander around and was steering him toward the bathroom. 

'Great. Not only do I get the thrilling experience of —' Xander's thought was cut off as Giles parked him in front of the toilet and started running cold water. 

"Really, Xander. I don't know what you were thinking. How far did you run? No. Don't answer. Just stay there for a moment." Giles kept up a running commentary as he soaked a washcloth in cold water, then wrung it out before putting it on the young man's neck. Through it all, Xander just crouched over the toilet and prayed that on top of every other humiliation he'd experienced within the last half hour, vomiting into Giles' toilet wouldn't be added to the list. 

After a few minutes, Xander's heart rate and stomach had both settled, and he wasn't trying to gulp down oxygen. He was closer to normal than he had been, and said with only minimal wheezing, "Okay. Feeling better." 

"You're sure?" Giles wasn't thrilled with Xander's color. He hadn't bothered trying to maintain any form of physical training over the summer other than attempting to fill Buffy's shoes. If Giles hadn't been so caught up in his attempts to locate his Slayer, he would have insisted on a more rigorous training schedule for Xander, Willow and the others, just to ensure they were fit enough to protect themselves. He was suddenly glad that Buffy wanted to stop patrolling. It meant he wouldn't have to worry so much about the children's involvement in this particular war any longer. 

"I'm fine, G-Man," Xander said, realizing he meant it. "Not gonna die tonight." 

His voice dry enough to suck the moisture out of the air, Giles answered, "You will if you call me 'G-Man' one more time. If you're quite recovered, let's go back into the lounge." 

"Lounge? Living room. How many times do I — wait. Buffy! Buffy's back, right? I didn't imagine it?" It was all Giles could do not to wince at the look of hope on Xander's face. Bad enough that Buffy had changed so drastically. Worse that she had no desire to see him at the moment. He could only hope that she would be willing to talk to him. It was one thing to decide sight unseen not to talk to an old friend. It was entirely something else to maintain that distance when confronted with the person face-to-face. 

"You didn't imagine it —" Giles took hold of Xander's arm as he tried to race back out to the lounge and said, "Xander, wait. Things are different. You need to understand." 

"Understand what?" Xander tried to shake off his hand, but he'd forgotten just how strong Giles was. 

"Buffy's changed," he said, uncertain of telling him anything. Had this conversation taken place this morning, Giles would have just explained everything without a second thought. But that was before Buffy had made it clear that she was not only capable of dealing with such issues herself, she was willing. Still, she hadn't followed them into the bathroom yet, and that may have been answer enough as to what she wanted him to do. 

"Changed? How much could she have changed? It's only been three months. C'mon, Giles, let me go. I want to talk to her. Thank her for saving my life again." Xander tried again to break free of Giles' grip, but he was again prevented from rushing out. 

"Three months for us, but twenty-one years for her," Giles said, his quiet voice belying the amount of force he had to use to keep Xander in the bathroom. Fortunately, his comment at last made him stop fighting. 

"Huh?" Xander looked at Giles, genuinely confused. "But I just saw her. She looked seventeen to me." 

"You saw Annie. My daughter." Giles looked up, relieved to see Buffy standing there, willing to talk to Xander. 

"What? Who are —?" Both Buffy and Giles could see the exact moment when Xander started processing what he'd been told. Shock and disbelief warred with anger, and eventually, anger won out. "Look, lady. I don't know who you are or what load of crap you've been feeding Giles, but I'm not buying it." 

"Xander —" Buffy and Giles had started speaking at the same time, but he cut himself off and nodded to Buffy to continue. 

"It's not a load of bull," she started, keeping her voice calm and steady. "Two days ago, I was still seventeen, but I got trapped in a hell dimension. Time runs a lot faster there, so while five hours passed in this dimension, twenty-one years passed in Hell. You with me so far?" 

Xander shook his head, trying very hard to maintain his level of denial. But before he could start objecting, Buffy continued, "You don't believe I'm Buffy? How's this — the morning I went to fight Angelus, you told me Willow said to kick his ass. Remember?" 

He nodded, not really thinking about what he'd just confessed to in front of a witness. "You didn't tell anyone else what you said to me, did you?" 

He shook his head and said, "No. No one." 

Buffy's face took on a harder appearance as she continued, "That's because you didn't want anyone to know you lied to me, right?" 

"Ri —" Xander stopped, horrified by what he'd said. Didn't matter if he stopped himself before adding that last consonant. He'd just admitted to lying to one of his best friends. As he looked at the woman standing before him, his brain started playing catch-up and making the connections. Her eyes, cold though they were, most definitely looked familiar. He remembered that selfsame look when she'd been ready to confront Angelus for the last time. And joy of joys, that look was now directed at him. 

As he opened his mouth to speak, his walkie-talkie let out a squawk and he heard, "Xander, you poophead! Where are you?" He had to hand it to Will. Her timing was right on target. 

Giles had let go of him by this time, so he was able to pull his radio off his belt and not blush too hard at the look the woman — 'Could she really be Buffy?' — gave him. "Hey. I'm, uh, I'm at Giles' place." 

"You're at Giles'? I thought he was going up to Fresno to look for Buffy this weekend," came Willow's voice over the radio. 

"Yeah, well. Things change," Xander said, a sickly smile on his face. 

When Buffy heard Fresno, she looked at Giles and raised a single eyebrow. He shrugged in apology, no more willing than she to speak while Xander and Willow were talking. 

"Well, if the two of you are there, we're coming over tea and those little cookies he has," she said, sounding cheerier than she had when she first started talking. 

Buffy shook her head and started backing away. She was barely able to deal with Xander at the moment, and she was fairly certain that having to cope with the rest of them was an idea so hugely bad that the gods would laugh themselves sick over it. 

At her look of panic, Giles took the radio from Xander's hand. After a moment of fumbling with it, he said, "Hold on a moment, Willow." He handed it back to Xander and told him, "Wait here. Buffy and I need to talk." 

She was shaking her head even as she backed her way through the hall. "I don't want to see them. Hell, I didn't even want to see Xander. Please don't let them come here." 

"You have to see them sooner or later," he said, his voice gentle. "It's not much different than seeing your mother, after all." 

"Yes it is. I wanted to see her," she answered, stopping as she reached the kitchen. 

Giles sighed, wondering where the warrior had gone off to. "Why don't you want to see them?" 

"Did you happen to notice the disaster that just happened in your bathroom? I already spent three hours today convincing my mother who I am. I'm not sure I have another three hours in me," she said with an equal blend of anger, exasperation and desperation. "Xander still isn't convinced I'm me. Do you honestly think I want to multiply that by three?" 

"Four, actually, if you count Cordelia," he said without thinking. At the look on her face, he quickly added, "The longer you avoid them, the harder it will be to meet them. Better to get it over with now, Buffy. You know this." 

As Annie listened from her perch on the stairs to the two of them talk, she felt horrible about what she'd done to her mother. She never should have gone so far from the apartment. If she hadn't, that boy wouldn't be here now, and her mother wouldn't be so upset. 

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice only a little better than a whisper. 

Quiet though she was, it was enough to catch Buffy's attention. She broke off glaring at Giles and turned to her daughter. "What did you say, Annie?" 

She cleared her throat and said, "I'm sorry. If I hadn't gone all the way to the city center, he never would have seen me." 

"Yeah. And I'd be dead," Xander answered. 

Giles scowled at him. "I believe I asked you to stay in the bathroom." 

"You've also asked me like a gazillion times not to call you 'G-Man,' and I have yet to pay attention," he said, continuing to look at the woman — Buffy — and the other girl. Coming to a decision, he walked past Giles and put on his best goofy smile to say to the girl, "Hi! I'm Xander. Thanks for dusting that vamp." 

Annie looked to her mother for a clue on how to answer, but she was pulling her stoneface routine. There'd be no help for her from Uncle Rupert, either — he was too busy watching Mom. Great. Just when she was ready to hate the people her mother used to be friends with, they didn't seem to be quite as bad as she thought they should be. Annie didn't know what to think of them anymore. But she was still George Fitzgerald's daughter, and her father had made sure she knew her manners almost as soon as she could talk. She remained on the steps, answering politely, if a bit distantly, "I'm Annie. And you're welcome." 

At that, Xander turned back to Buffy, the grin disappearing entirely. "I'm sorry." 

"For what?" Buffy wanted to cringe at her tone of voice, but having him show up so unexpectedly was too much. She didn't want to deal with this today or tomorrow or even next week. She wanted to give herself and Annie time to adjust to being in a place where they didn't have to post guards and where food — her stomach growled at the thought — where food was available twenty-four hours a day. Instead, she was looking at Xander and watching him curl up and die a little at the way she was talking to him. And he didn't deserve it. 

Well. Not all of it. 

"Xander — I'm sorry. I didn't mean to speak to you like that," she said. "You surprised me. Annie and I only just got in yesterday, and I'm still — I'm not used to being around humans yet." 

Gods, she was glad to see a little bit of the light come back into his eyes. They still had to deal with the matter of him lying to her, but if she was going to emphasize the whole honesty deal, the truth was, she could have left L.A. a week earlier and still been the same age as her friends. 

"It's not your fault," he said, eager to make with the nice. "You're right. I lied — it was wrong. And I'm so sorry. And are you sure you're Buffy?" 

She blinked at the last question and said, "Yeah. I was when I woke up this morning. Pretty sure I didn't wander into any stray curses since then." 

"You just look so —" He stopped abruptly, some rare hint of self-preservation pointing out that finishing that sentence would likely end in a great deal of pain. 

"Old?" Her lips twitched upward in an all-too-familiar grin, and suddenly, even with the scars and wrinkles and dreadlocks, she was the Buffy he remembered. 

He lurched forward, stumbling slightly, and pulled her in for a hug. His face in her hair, he said, "I've missed you so much. The Hellmouth just hasn't been the same without you." 

There was only the briefest hesitation before she returned his hug and said, "I've missed you, too." 

At that, he tensed up and said, "Did you miss me enough that you'll forgive me when you find out I told Willow and the others to come over?" 

~*~*~

"I don't get why we have to go to Giles' place. It's stupid," said Cordelia. She was driving, only occasionally looking into the rearview mirror to check her make-up. To all outward appearances, she didn't seem to care about either of her passengers, but the reality was that every time she took a corner just a shade too fast, it was all she could do not to burst into laughter at the look of panic on Willow's face. The fact that she was dating Xander only meant Cordelia couldn't torture Willow overtly anymore. But she could still play little games — like just barely missing a parked car. 'Honestly,' Cordelia thought, 'would I have gotten a license if I really sucked this bad at driving?' 

Willow, alternately clutching at her seat belt and the door handle, tried to keep her voice level as she answered, "Xander said it was impor — watch out for that bike!" 

"Relax. I see it," Cordelia said as she missed it by a solid two inches. 

She'd made a bet with herself on how long Willow would last without saying something about an impending collision, and she won, with four minutes to spare. She didn't allow herself even the faintest smile as she thought about making a trip to L.A. for a new pair of boots. The trip to Mexico had been rotten. She'd wanted a European shopping spree to update her wardrobe, but her parents insisted that Los Palmos was **the** place to be. Cordelia hadn't been the slightest bit pleased to start school last Monday with American fashions. It was okay, though. Daddy would pay. 

"Anyway, Xander said it was important," Willow gasped out. On some level, she knew that no legal driver could be as bad as Cordelia seemed to be, but she couldn't stop herself from pointing out the near misses and disasters that seemed to lie in wait around every corner. 

"Xander thinks a new Babylon 5 plate from the Franklin Mint is important," she answered. She wished the rearview mirror was set properly so she could see if Oz was reacting at all, but in the last few days of routine patrol, she'd rediscovered the fact that Oz rarely got worked up about anything. It was disappointing, but as she thought about it, it was hardly surprising. Werewolf boy couldn't afford to get too pissed about much of anything if he didn't want his friends turning on him at the next full moon. 

"Well — yeah, he does. But this sounded — OLD MAN!" Willow pushed her right foot into the floor of the car in a fruitless attempt to make it stop. 

"Yes, Willow. I see the old man creeping across the intersection," she said, braking hard enough to make the tires screech against the pavement. The sudden noise wasn't enough to faze the pedestrian. He just continued his slow walk to the other side of the street without once looking around. "And now that the vampire bait is safely across the street, why don't you explain just what it was about Xander that sounded so different from the time he announced he was getting that stupid comic book." 

"Gotta interrupt here," Oz said from the back. "That was a rare issue. He had every reason to be excited, considering how low the price was." 

"Yeah. And if I recall correctly, the price was so low because the owner was collecting brains for his demon overlord," Cordelia answered. "Face it. Xander's idea of what's important doesn't match any known logic in the universe." 

Grasping at the chance to defend Xander rather than worrying about Cordelia's driving and her personal chance of surviving it, Willow said, "Okay, so he's not so good at thinking things through sometimes, but he got the comic, and he was able to sell it for a hundred dollars on e-Bay." 

"And if he'd done what I told him to do," she responded, "he could have gotten four times as much down in L.A. Admit it, Willow. Xander will never score big in high finance." 

"Then why do you date him?" The question was equal parts curiosity and exasperation, and Cordelia would have preferred any question but that one. Especially since it meant Willow wasn't paying attention to her driving anymore. 

She sighed before saying, "Because." 

"Because why?" 

Cordelia wanted to damn Willow for her persistence, but Oz, who was way more talkative than usual, said, "Kind of curious myself." 

'Great. I'm driving — badly — and all they want to do is have an encounter session,' she thought, searching desperately for the turn-off into Giles' neighborhood. Unfortunately, it was still at least a half-mile off, which meant she couldn't really avoid the question without **looking** like she was avoiding the question. 

Another sigh and then, "He gets to me." 

Willow twisted around in her seat to face Cordelia and, after a quick glance at Oz, said, "How?" 

She clenched her jaw, reminding herself not to grind her teeth. She also reminded herself that none of the Scoobys seemed to get the concept of minding their own business. They all seemed perfectly comfortable commenting on each other's life. Rather than get specific, she said, "You know how." 

From the back, "Not really." 

"I know you guys are pretty heavy into the whole lip-lock thing," Willow said, her speaking rhythm signaling an impending babble-fest, "but there's got to be more to it than that, right?" 

'I'm in hell,' Cordelia thought as she suddenly regretted tormenting Willow with her driving. 'I'm in absolute hell.' Aloud, she said, "I'm in hell. I'm in absolute hell. I can't believe I'm being interrogated by Miss Geek of 1998 and her boyfriend, Sunnydale's answer to 'I Was a Teenage Werewolf.'" 

"Well, you are on the Hellmouth," Oz said, unperturbed by Cordelia's outburst. He'd heard her say far worse and was inclined to think that she was going kind of easy on them. 

"Duh!" Cordelia dragged out the vowel just a hair longer than she needed to in a desperate attempt to stall for time. She also increased her speed a bit, hoping against hope that they would arrive at Giles' place soon enough for her to avoid entirely the troublesome question of just why she was dating one Alexander Lavelle Harris, loser extraordinaire. 

In a quiet voice, one filled with a sense of intense curiosity, Willow said, "Is he really that good a kisser?" 

Cordelia's sense of relief at Willow veering away from a dangerous guess was almost enough to make her take pity on her. 

Almost. 

She made an unnecessarily hard swerve around a set of cones surrounding a sewer cover and savored Willow's yelp of surprise before answering, "Yes. He's a really good kisser. Are we done now? Because I'm still trying to figure out why you seem to think that anything he could have to say would be important." 

Stammering a bit as she tried to catch her breath from the near-miss, Willow said, "You didn't hear him. He sounded — off — when he said we should get there." 

"Off?" Cordelia damned the fine tremor she heard in her voice. Just because she wasn't willing to tell the whole world about it didn't meant that Xander wasn't important to her. She'd been perfectly truthful when she told Willow that he got to her. He did. As pathetic as he could be at times, Xander was able to stand up to her like none of her other boyfriends ever had. At times, she wanted to smack him for being able to match her will with his own. At other times, it was all she could do not to drag him into a convenient closet for some uninterrupted necking. 

"Yeah. Like he just heard something. I think it's about Buffy," Willow answered, her voice noticeably trembling. 

It was enough to set Cordelia's teeth on edge and to make her indescribably grateful she hadn't been around all summer to hear about their precious Buffy. "Oh," she drawled as she finally reached the turn-off to Giles' place. "It's about Buffy. The Chosen One. The one who ran away leaving just a note for her mother and who hasn't called or written all summer long. Because we're all just really anxious to hear about her, aren't we?" 

Miserable, Willow turned in her seat so she was facing front again before saying, "Okay, so she kind of abandoned us. But I'm sure she had a good reason." 

"Face it, Willow, she abandoned her sacred duty and left the rest of us here to do her job for her," she said, savoring the opportunity to point out that Buffy wasn't really "all that" after all. 

"She didn't! Okay, she did, but I'm telling you she had a really good reason," Willow answered, getting more and more upset. 

Cordelia couldn't be sure, but she thought Willow might be a little bit freaked, because for the first time, she was starting to admit to herself that super strength and super speed weren't the only things that went into making a super hero. Sure, Buffy had a lot of the things that made a hero, but what kind of hero just up and left her friends on their own without so much as a letter or a phone call? She was just happy she could be the one to burst that particular bubble. As far as she was concerned. Willow needed to grow up and get over the hero-worship. 

'And what kind of Chase am I for even caring about what Willow thinks or feels? Damn you, Xander. I hate it when you get all little-boy-lost on me,' she thought, remembering all too clearly the pain in his voice as he'd brought her up to date on the complete lack of news about the missing Scooby. She, for one, didn't miss Buffy at all. Really. The only possible reason she might have to miss her was the fact that she had to take up her slack on these stupid patrols — patrols Giles hadn't even asked them to handle. 

"Fine," she said, her voice clipped as she pulled up in front of Giles' apartment complex with a flourish. "Miss Chosen had a really good reason for leaving you behind to try to do her work. I'm sure I'll be completely floored if I ever get around to hearing it." 

"When," Willow snapped, angry that Cordelia wasn't being positive and certain that Buffy would return. "**When** you get around to hearing it. She's coming back, and I don't want to hear another word from you that makes it sound like she won't." Rather than wait for an answer or even her boyfriend, she released her seat belt and got out of the car as quickly as possible. 

Oz got out at a more leisurely pace, keeping an eye on Willow as she stormed through the gate and headed down the steps. "Nice save there," he said, not bothering to look at Cordelia. 

"I don't know what you're talking about," she answered, genuinely confused. 

"The way you didn't answer Willow's question about Xander. I'm impressed at the way you didn't answer. But I'm also kind of pissed right now," he said. Looking back into the car, he continued, "I don't really care how you feel about Buffy, but I care about how Willow feels. Don't upset her again." 

Cordelia swallowed and just nodded. For all his casual tone, something in the way Oz looked at her made made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. She made a mental note not to piss him off again without good reason as she slowly got out of the car to follow. She'd already decided she was going to take a more leisurely pace so she wouldn't have to be near everyone, but then she heard Willow's scream. 

"Oh crap," she said. 

~*~*~

Willow had stormed away from Cordelia's car with every intention of telling Xander that he had to dump her or else. She hadn't quite figured out what the "or else" might mean, especially since she was still having trouble with simple glamours, but even so, she muttered, "I'll do something witchy to him." 

She could sort of understand what Cordelia saw in him, even if she didn't understand the reason for her turning her back on the Cordettes. Despite the fact that she was dating Oz, Willow still kind of, sort of had a teeny, tiny little thing for Xander tucked away in a quiet corner of her heart. She'd seen and catalogued his finer qualities for years, hoping that one day he would turn around and notice her at long last. But this thing with Cordelia — it was just wrong. It went completely against the grain for Xander Harris to be involved with the town's rich girl. That sort of thing just didn't happen outside the movies or gloppy soap operas. If she were a better witch, she would be able to do a spell to figure out how to fix this. 

She had stomped down the stairs and was about to storm Giles' apartment when the door opened suddenly, and a demon came out at full speed and ran straight into her. They fell to the ground, with Willow on her back and that thing on top of her. She screamed once out of surprise and then again out of fear when the thing's tentacles started touching her. She was struggling to get away even as the thing pinned her wrists to the ground with inhuman strength. Willow whimpered as she looked up into the face of her captor. The scars were horrible, and she closed her eyes tight as she said, "Let go of me!" 

"Willow." She cringed when she heard it speak her name. It could only mean that Giles — 

Wait. That voice. She knew it. She slowly opened one eye and looked up. The eyes looked familiar, but she couldn't quite place them. Willow stammered out, "Who are you? What have you done with Giles?" 

Willow's fear gave way to guilt when she saw how sad the woman — definitely a woman — was. And even though she knew she was being ridiculous, all she wanted to do was comfort the person currently holding her still. 

It wasn't until she heard Oz say, "Buffy," that she looked closely at her face. 

"Buffy?" Her voice was small. She hoped that Oz was wrong, because if it was Buffy who was pinning her to the flagstones, then Very Bad Things had happened to her while she'd been away. 

Willow saw her swallow hard just before she released her wrists sat back on her heels. "Yeah. Buffy." She stood up and stepped away from where Willow still lay. 

"Geez, Buffy. I know the life of a runaway is hard, but I think you could've sprung for at least **one** bottle of conditioner," said Cordelia. She stood a few feet behind Oz, her arms crossed and a frown on her face. 

Willow shot a mean look at Cordelia and was ready to say something, but Buffy's short burst of laughter made her look back up. "You know, Cordelia? I'd forgotten that tongue of yours. Glad to see you kept it sharp while I was gone," she said, looking relaxed and amused in a faintly patronizing kind of way. 

She was astonished at Cordelia's equally amused response, "Yeah, well. It wasn't easy to do with you off on your little journey of self-discovery. So you went into the wilds and discovered you're some kind of Indian?" 

"I think the term is Native American," Oz said absently as he continued to look at Buffy with a slight frown. 

"Whatever. So what's with the skin condition, Buffy? I mean, yeah, you're the Slayer and all, but you never used to let yourself go this much. What's the deal?" Willow slowly stood up, amazed that neither Buffy nor Cordelia seemed all that angry. They were just trading barbs but without any hint of real dislike between them. 

"No moisturizers in Hell. No conditioner, either." She played with one incredibly long dreadlock and asked, "So you really think my new look is a problem? I figured it would be all the rage next year." 

"At the mouth of hell? Not a chance. And **where** did you get that outfit?" Cordelia approached slowly, sizing Buffy up. 

Willow sidled over to Oz, looking for reassurance. This person couldn't possibly be Buffy. She was getting along way too well with Cordelia, and she wasn't even trying to talk to her or Oz. He drew her in close, and she leaned against him gratefully, turning to nuzzle his face, but stopping short when she saw his nose flaring. She was mildly disconcerted when she realized he was catching Buffy's scent. 

"Wal-Mart," was the answer, and the look of horror on Cordelia's face was enough to surprise a small laugh out of Willow. She glanced at Oz, and he gave her an encouraging smile. 

"Wal-Mart? My god — you really **were** in Hell!" 

_to be continued..._


	6. Home Again Part 6

**Home Again - Part 6**

"Okay. So to recap the last two hours of my life — which I'll **never** get back — you got stuck in hell, led an army of humans and demons to try to find your way back, met some guy, fell in love, had a kid, lost the guy in an attack, won a war, then came back home. Right?" 

"Cordelia!" 

Ignoring Willow's shocked outburst, Buffy blinked at the succinct recap of the last twenty-one years of her life and said, "Yeah. Pretty much." 

With a bored look on her face, Cordelia continued, "Fine. So we're caught up, yes?" 

Buffy found herself struggling to keep a smile off her face. For one thing, it would ruin the snarkfest Cordelia was setting up. For another, she was very much afraid she would come across as patronizing — something she didn't want to do to the young woman. Buffy realized that most of the others were cringing at Cordelia's bluntness, but as far as she was concerned, it was a breath of fresh air. Giles was too reluctant to ask questions he thought might be painful, and Willow and Xander were too cowed by her appearance and her story to ask any real questions. Oz — well, Oz was the way he usually was — quiet, alert and willing to let the others take the lead. 

After a moment, Buffy replied, "Yep. We're —" 

"Fine. So maybe now you'll get around to explaining all the scars," Cordelia said, focusing her attention on Buffy. The way Willow and Xander pussy-footed around those horrible designs was almost enough to make her scream, especially since she could tell they were too afraid to ask, even though they were dying to know. 

"It's very simple. Someone used a sharp object on my skin," she answered, her lips twitching slightly at the look of annoyance Cordelia directed at her. Both ignored the gasps of shock from Willow and Xander. Buffy thought the choking coming from Giles' direction was probably a thwarted chuckle, but she couldn't confirm her suspicions without breaking eye contact with Cordelia — something she had no intention of doing. 

"Well, duh! I figured that one out. What I can't figure out is why you'd let them. I mean, I know you were pretty casual about your looks before you ran away, but is that any reason to let them get **this** bad?" Cordelia was less than thrilled with her response; it lacked a certain zing and originality. She just wasn't used to a confident Buffy, one who was able to let insults roll off her back and not get the slightest bit flustered. Worse still, she was beginning to think Buffy was laughing at her. 

"What can I say, Cordy? Without you around to guide me through the pitfalls of fashion do's and don'ts, I fell in with the wrong crowd," Buffy said, biting her cheek to keep from laughing. It had been too long since the last time she'd had to keep a straight face, and she hadn't expected to have to do so at this point. On the rare occasions she'd thought of this particular reunion, she'd imagined a grim meeting, one that culminated in her telling everyone but Giles to stay well away from her and hers. She hadn't thought she would be sitting comfortably, playing with Annie's braids while trading quips with Queen C. The distance between expectation and reality was enough to make her slightly dizzy and giddy. 

Cordelia finally accepted that yes, Buffy was indeed playing with her. It was a difficult pill to swallow, but at the same time, she kind of liked it. There weren't that many people in Sunnydale who could take a dose of pure, unadulterated Chase snark, and she was faintly astonished at how happy she was to see that Buffy had been added to the list. All she had to do now was figure out how to convince her that surgery to eliminate the scars was her best option. Once that was done — as well as a long overdue haircut and manicure — Cordelia might even be willing to be seen in public with her. 

She was about to continue when Xander interrupted with, "I can't believe how shallow you are! Buffy's been to Hell and back, and all you're worried about is her looks?" 

Before she could answer, Buffy said, "I can't believe how surprised you are, Xander. I mean, it's not like she's any different than she was before I ran away." 

"That's —" Cordelia's outrage shown clear and bright as the meaning of Buffy's defense of her sank in. "Wait a minute! I'm not **that** shallow!" 

At that, Buffy raised a single eyebrow. And she waited. 

"Okay, you win. Maybe I really am that shallow. But you **still** haven't answered my question. What's the deal with the scars? And when are you getting rid of them?" Cordelia acknowledged Buffy's victory in that particular battle with only a modicum of grace. 

Annie spoke up at that point, saying, "She can't get rid of them. They announce her clan affiliations." 

Giles, who'd been waiting somewhat eagerly for an explanation of the scarring, asked, "Clan affiliations? I don't understand." 

Looking up at her mother, Annie waited for permission to continue before saying, "It was the only way she could get the demons to agree to her being the leader. At first, she had to fight the best warrior from a clan before she'd get the chieftain to swear an oath of fealty. But after a while, she convinced them that killing off the best fighters **before** they went into battle was kind of silly. She talked them into doing duels that stopped just before a killing blow could be delivered." 

Stammering slightly, he said, "I'm afraid I don't understand what that has to do with the scarification." 

Buffy looked up at him and explained, "Once I defeated a group's best warrior, the leader of that group adopted me into the clan so that I could absorb those demons into my army. I started doing the scars, because it was an easy way to advertise that certain tribes had already accepted me as their overlord." 

"Lady." 

Everyone looked at Oz, who hadn't said much of anything since they came in from the courtyard, and he said, "Lady. Buffy would have been an overlady, not an overlord." 

"Not really. A lot of the demons couldn't deal with mom being female," Annie said. "They knew she was the Slayer, but most couldn't deal without pretending she was male." 

Giles was a bit taken aback by Annie's confident assessment and said, "Buffy, is this true?" 

She shrugged and said, "Pretty much. It was kind of touch and go when I was pregnant. A few of my generals threatened to remove themselves and their clans from my army because of it. In the end, we compromised. I stayed out of sight during the last half of my pregnancy and George communicated with my officers." 

"But that's just wrong!" Buffy was touched by Willow's affront, despite the fact that it was too late to do any good. 

"Maybe," she said. "I was more interested in winning the war, and if the troops were upset over me being pregnant, then it was easier just to hide for a few months. It was kind of nice, really. I managed to get a lot of planning done and avoided all the bickering between the different tribes." 

"Yeah, I remember," Annie said absently, not realizing that her mother had tensed up with those three words. It wasn't until she saw the reactions of the others in the room that she remembered her mother hadn't mentioned her brother and sister once since they arrived. She wanted to run and hide, but her mother kept a firm hand on her and made sure she stayed put. 

Xander was about to ask a question, but Willow and, remarkably, Cordelia, both slapped a hand over his mouth to keep him quiet. The two looked at each other and agreed with an exchange of looks that he couldn't be allowed to speak until it was clear that he wouldn't make a mess of things. Xander, outraged, tried to shake them off, but Cordelia whispered, "One word, Harris. Say one wrong word, and I will personally see to it that you are miserable for the next three months." 

Willow followed Cordelia's warning with, "And when she's done, it will be my turn." 

His eyes wide open and jerking from side to side as he looked first at Cordelia and then at Willow, Xander swallowed and nodded his agreement. He already knew he was going to be in Willow's doghouse as soon as Buffy got around to telling her about his lie. He had no desire to make things worse at this point, so he relaxed into their joint grip, making it clear he would stay quiet. 

Giles ignored the byplay on the couch and said gently, "Perhaps when you're ready to talk about it, you could tell me more about your family." 

Buffy felt her throat tighten up. She wanted to cry in the worst way, but she wasn't sure she could at this point. The last time she'd been able to cry was when she buried George and her other two children. It had been a miserable day, with a cold wind blowing in from the south and a combination of rain, sleet and snow making burial detail impossible by normal means. She'd eventually caved into her shaman's pleas and allowed him to use magic to open a single grave for George, Carrie and David. It had felt like cheating at the time — like she was taking the easy way out in laying her family to rest — but realistically, they should have left every body unburied as soon as they realized the encampment was lost. Two of her guardsmen had muttered disparaging comments about human sentiment, and Buffy killed them both without hesitation. There hadn't been any other complaints after that day. 

She took a drink of water, shaking herself out of her reverie. She stroked Annie's hair and said, "It's hard — talking about them. My army had scattered through the mountains to ride out winter and hide as best as they were able. I figured it was probably a good time to meet with the Halpern tribe to see about merging our groups. At first, all of us were going to go, but Carrie and David came down with some kind of bug. Rather than risk Annie getting sick, George sent the two of us off with my personal guard." 

She paused long enough that no one wanted to prompt her, but Giles felt she needed to continue with the story — the whole story this time — and said, "This was when George died?" 

Buffy looked up at him and said, "As far as we could tell, we arrived the day after the attack. If we'd gotten there in time, we might have been able to save them." 

It was a hell of a time for her guilt to emerge, and if he'd had a choice, he would have continued this conversation in private. But Giles thought it was entirely possible that if he didn't work with her now, the chance might never come up again. It was the first time he'd seen her looking even remotely open since her return, and he needed to take advantage of the chance to strengthen whatever was left of their bond. 

With great care and deliberation, he said, "It's equally possible that you and Annie would have been killed as well. And if that had happened, we never would have known of your fate." 

If it was clear to Giles and the others in the room that Buffy had been carrying a burden of guilt about her family since their death, it was equally clear she wasn't ready to lay it down yet. Her face hardened slightly, and she said, "Maybe. But I'll never know if I could have saved them, will I?" 

Giles felt wholly inadequate at that moment. He sighed, knowing he had lost that particular battle, then said, "I'm sorry for your loss, Buffy — and Annie. Nothing I can say will assuage the pain you still feel, but I hope that you'll talk to me about them. I would like very much to know them through your memories." 

For a long moment, Annie held her breath, waiting to see how her mother reacted. The day they buried her siblings and father had been pretty bad, and it had only gotten worse when her mother killed Cr'lk and Ander. After that, no one really wanted to talk to them about their family. Even the shaman kept quiet and didn't try to talk to her about proper rituals for the dead. 

"Thanks," said Buffy, her voice low and rough. 

Though she didn't seem to notice the single tear drop sliding down her cheek, Giles did. There was little he could do other than clear his apartment as quickly as possible so that she could have a bit of privacy. He cleared his throat and said, "I think it's time everyone go home, now." 

Cordelia stood, releasing her hold on Xander, and said, "Yeah. It's time to get going. I'd offer you a ride to your mom's place, but my car only holds four." 

Buffy blinked at that, suddenly remembering what she'd been about to say when Cordelia sidetracked her. She stood up, shaking off her grief for a moment and said, "It's okay. Annie and I are staying with Giles. But about Mom, I want you all to avoid her." 

Before anyone could stop him, Xander asked, "You're staying with Giles? Why? And why do we have to avoid your mom?" 

Willow took the opportunity to kick him in the ankle before saying, "It's none of our business. Come on. We have to go." She tugged on his arm to get him moving toward the door, but Buffy told her to wait a moment. 

"It's your business, because you need to understand why I'm about to threaten you and mean it." When she had their undivided attention, Buffy continued, "I saw Mom today, but all I had a chance to do was convince her that I'm me. She **doesn't** know about Annie yet, and if she finds out from anyone **but** me, I will personally show that person why my name is feared across a hundred dimensions." 

If anyone had been deluded enough to think she was joking, they reconsidered when they saw Annie go pale at her mother's words. 

After a few minutes of absolute silence, Oz said, "Not sure what you mean by that. Not sure I want to know. But you have my word. Joyce won't hear about Annie from me." 

Willow, still trying to process the fact that Buffy — her best friend, of all people — that Buffy had just threatened her. Yeah, okay, she wasn't so great with keeping secrets, but was that any reason to — 

"Willow?" Buffy watched the play of emotions on the younger woman's face, and she felt only a moment's sorrow that she had turned into the kind of person who could threaten friends without a qualm. 

Stammering, she said, "I promise. I won't say anything to your mom." 

"She'll be with me all day tomorrow," Oz said. With the exception of Annie, he thought he might be the only one in the room who understood at a bone deep level just how serious Buffy was about that threat. He didn't like it, but he wasn't about to confront her over it. The Buffy he'd known back in May was long gone, and he had no idea just how far this one would go to make a point. 

Cordelia may not have understood how dangerous Buffy was, but she knew enough to know that she wasn't kidding about not telling Joyce anything. Pinching Xander's arm in an unspoken demand for obedience, she said, "Xander and I will be with Willow and Oz. We'll all stay away from your mom until you say it's okay." 

With that final assurance, the tension level in the room dropped when Buffy nodded and gave them a tired smile. "Thanks. I'll go over in the morning. Once I've told her, I'll let you guys know." 

~*~*~

He waved off the supercilious cheese vendor when he discovered he was in the library of the Watcher's Council — food, after all, was not permitted in these hallowed halls. He was researching — himself? Yes. Himself. There was his photo in the book before him, and the caption read, "Ripper, a.k.a. Rupert Giles, Watcher to Buffy, the Vampire Slayer. Sired by Drusilla on June 9, 1998." He read further about his exploits, tut-tutting all the while at just how evil he'd managed to become. Though truthfully, there was a very small part of him that was quite happy to see that as a vampire, he'd managed to do quite well for himself. 

He heard a noise and looked up, noting without curiosity that he was now in the Sunnydale High School library. It wasn't all that late, the sound of the janitor's waxing machine telling him it must be about half past eight. The windows were dark, and he was alone with shelves that had been stripped of every book he'd brought with him from England. He tried to puzzle that one out, but the same noise intruded once again, and he looked around to find Angelus holding — "Jenny!" 

He smiled and looked down at the body he held. Jenny's eyes were open, and her neck was twisted. She was dressed as she had been the last day he saw her alive — the day Buffy had finally relented in her anger. Angelus said, "What's the matter, Rupert? Don't you like what I did to her?" 

He jumped up — or tried to. He felt as if he were trying to move through molasses as he tried to reach the pair. It was made worse by the fact that he was suddenly trying to run up the stairs in his loft. When he finally reached the top step, he found Buffy — the elder one — standing on the opposite side of his bed, looking down at herself — Buffy, the younger, who wore the same dress as Jenny. She looked up, a grim smile on her face, and said, "What's the matter, Rupert? Don't you like what I did to her?" 

Giles awoke just before he screamed. He was breathing hard and covered in sweat, trying desperately to erase the image of Buffy standing over her own body, taunting him with the knowledge that she had murdered herself. He swung his legs over the side of the mattress and sat hunched over as he forced himself to start breathing normally. 'It's only a dream,' he thought to himself. 'And it's not particularly original or interesting. Buffy is alive. She's downstairs, and she's alive.' 

Even coaching himself along, it was still nearly ten minutes before his heart rate and breathing had calmed to the point where he felt he could face the day. He put on his bathrobe, grimacing at the thought of putting it on over his damp t-shirt. He grabbed a change of clothing and headed down to take a shower, hoping that would chase the last of the nightmare from his mind. The one thing he **didn't** want was to see Buffy before he'd gotten cleaned up for the day. 

The soft sounds of Giles moving through the apartment to get to the bathroom woke Buffy from her own dreams. They hadn't been bad, but they'd been on the confusing side, and she was glad to find that morning had arrived. She looked down at Annie, who was, thankfully, still sound asleep. The two of them had talked quietly after the others left the night before, with Buffy trying to get her to calm down over mentioning Carrie and David. 

Annie's overwrought reaction had been an eye-opener for her. She'd never really considered the fact that she didn't talk about her lost family with anyone but her daughter, but she didn't think Annie should have gotten so hysterical for mentioning them by accident. Buffy didn't know where she got the idea that she would be punished for talking about her brother and sister, yet it was clear she thought that. 'Way to go with the mother-daughter communication, Summers,' she thought. 

She stood up, quietly cursing the day George died. He'd been a great father — he was the one who could get the children to behave and to be polite to visitors and to learn how to defend themselves. She'd tried to be a good mother — they all knew it — but most of the time, she'd been too caught up in military planning to pay much attention to her family beyond the basics. It had taken a good two years after George's death for Annie to get to the point where she could talk to her mother without stammering, and even now, she still did it when she was upset or nervous. 

Buffy sighed quietly on her way to the kitchen, thinking yet again that as mothers went, she was pretty much at the bottom of the pit. She was a much better general than she was a parent, and she could only hope that when Annie eventually landed in therapy, she would forgive her for being so bad. She pulled out three eggs from the refrigerator and put them in a pan of water to boil before starting the tea. She and Annie had been through a few cycles of starvation, and no matter what Giles thought, she had a pretty good idea of what they could tolerate at this point in their return to regular eating. 

As she waited for the water to boil, she thought about her own mother and what her reaction to Annie might be. Buffy hadn't wanted to introduce Annie until she was sure Joyce could behave, but she thought it might be better to get it over with quickly. Giles could drop the two of them off at the house this morning, then she wouldn't have to worry about stray comments from the Scooby Gang reaching Joyce before she did. 

Lost in her thoughts, she didn't hear Giles come into the kitchen, and she jumped slightly when he said, "The day is far too beautiful for whatever gloomy thoughts are running through your head." 

She looked at him, her head cocked slightly to the side as she considered the tone of his voice. It wasn't quite the same as it had been the last two days. As she thought about it, she realized what was missing — the sense that he was still almost thirty years older than she. She wondered what had made him finally see her as an adult, but she was too shy to ask. For all their closeness before she'd run away, it had been a bond of professionals, of soldiers in a war. The few times their personal life had intruded had been difficult for both to deal with. 

Buffy shook off her thoughts, not wanting to go any further down that road, and said in a low voice, "Just thinking about Mom. I want to take Annie over there first thing this morning, so I can get Xander and the others off the hook." 

"Are you sure? I thought you wanted to make sure she accepted Annie's heritage before introducing them," he said, skirting around her to pull the tea out of the cupboard. 

Buffy turned to watch him and said, "Yeah. I'm sure. The longer she goes without knowing about Annie or meeting her, the worse it will be. I have a feeling she'll be ready to take a stake to me when she realizes I didn't tell her yesterday, but I think she'll be okay with Annie." 

Giles heard the note of uncertainty in her voice and paused. He didn't know if he should reassure her as to her mother's reaction to a new grandchild or if he should encourage her to leave Annie here with him until the fireworks died down. In the end, he said, "I have no idea what's best, Buffy. But I think you should follow your instincts in this." 

~*~*~

Two hours later, Buffy and Annie were on the porch of the Summers home, both of them standing stock still, paralyzed with doubt. Giles had stayed in his car, waiting for them to go inside before he left, but when he saw that neither was making an effort to knock, he turned off the car and joined them. 

"As far as I know, Joyce didn't develop any telepathic abilities over the summer," he said dryly. "It would behoove you to knock, if you wish to let her know you're out here." 

Buffy gave him a dirty look, all but snarling as she pressed the doorbell without looking away from him. "Sarcasm is **not** welcome when it's directed at me," she said. She missed the sound of the door opening, but not the twin gasps that came from her mother and daughter. She turned back and saw Joyce looking at Annie in shock. 

"Mom?" She didn't respond, so Buffy tried again, with a bit more force. "Mom!" 

Startled, Joyce blinked as she turned to Buffy. "What?" 

Taking a deep breath, Buffy said, "I wanted to tell you yesterday, but we kept getting distracted." 

"Tell me what?" Joyce's eyes were slightly unfocused as she looked at the young girl standing next to Buffy. 

"Tell you about Annie — my daughter," she said, reaching out to put her arm around Annie and draw her in close. 

Giles wanted very much to fade away, but he felt that if he were to move now, he might draw undue attention to himself. He settled for looking down and examining his hiking boots, a quiet smile on his face as he remembered Buffy's unexpected reaction to this morning's news that he owned what she called "normal" clothes. The look of shock on her face when he'd appeared in jeans and a t-shirt had been mildly gratifying. 

"How?" Joyce seemed incapable of complex speech as she stood staring at a girl who could be Buffy's twin. 

"The usual way. Look, could we talk inside? No reason to give the neighbors even more to talk about, right?" 

With that, Joyce recalled herself and said quickly, "Yes. Of course. Please." 

When she stood back from the door to let Buffy and Annie in, Giles backed away slowly, hoping that neither Joyce nor Buffy would attempt to make him stay. He got his wish when none of the three even so much as looked back at him. Breathing a quiet sigh of relief, he made his way back to the car and went home. Buffy had told him they would walk back or get a ride from Joyce when it was time. He wanted it to be a fairly long time, if possible. He'd lived alone for too long to be fully comfortable with two new roommates, and the chance to have some quiet time was a welcome one. 

~*~*~

It wasn't until she heard the backfire of a car that Joyce suddenly realized Giles hadn't come in with Buffy and her — and Annie. "Why didn't Mr. Giles come in?" 

Both relieved at the chance not to have to jump into a discussion about Annie and frustrated by the fact that they were talking about someone other than her daughter, Buffy said, "He thought this should be family time." 

"Right. Family," Joyce said, turning again to look at Annie. "I — your name is Annie?" 

"Yeah," she answered in a small voice. "Daddy wanted to name me Buffy, but mom always said one of her was enough." 

Clutching at evidence that Annie hadn't been forced on Buffy, Joyce said quickly, "Daddy? Where is —" Her voice trailed off as she considered why the father might not be with them. 

"George was killed," Buffy said shortly. 

"Oh, Buffy. I'm so sorry." Looking into her mother's eyes, Buffy felt her tension dissolve a little bit. She had understood, and she hadn't judged. 

"It's been a few years," she answered, shifting in preparation for walking into the living room. 

She hadn't counted on Joyce's determination to comfort her, even if she was years late offering condolences. Joyce caught her in a hug and said, "I don't care how long it's been. My father never stopped grieving for your Grandma Rae." 

Buffy heard a quiet sniffle from Annie, and she drew away long enough to bring her into the embrace. The three of them stood there for a long time, drawing comfort from one another. Eventually, it was Buffy who moved away, suddenly unable to deal with the closeness of family. For the moment, it was still a lie. Joyce didn't know about George, and until she did, Annie would be at risk from a stray comment about demons. 

"Maybe we should sit down," she said, looking at her mother and daughter. Annie moved away from Joyce and walked into the living room. She stopped, not sure where her mom wanted to sit. Buffy solved the problem by coming up from behind and gently pushing her toward the couch. 

Joyce stood, undecided, and said, "I think I should make coffee." 

"No, Mom. Please. Sit. I need to talk to you about George," Buffy said, wanting very much for Joyce to settle down for a moment. 

She didn't sit — couldn't, really — Buffy's tone of voice didn't bode well for her peace of mind. Her voice betrayed a minor tremble as she asked, "What about him?" 

Before Buffy could answer, Annie blurted out, "He was half-demon." 

"Smooth move, Annie," Buffy said, with more than a little annoyance. 

"Sorry — it's just — I'm tired of this being a big deal to talk about," Annie said, displaying the first signs of temper Buffy had seen in several days. "Yeah, I get that in this world, demons are bad, but I grew up with them. And Grandma Joyce knows you were in Hell, so why would she be surprised that you fell in love with someone who wasn't completely human? Are you ashamed of him?" 

More sharply than she would have liked, Buffy answered, "Of course not! But your grandmother only just found out about vampires and demons a few months ago. Don't you think it would have been a good idea to ease her into the knowledge?" 

Annie didn't answer. Instead, her face settled into a stubborn frown that Joyce had seen on her daughter's face (and her own, if she were being honest) all too often. She let out a small chuckle, and when the two of them turned to glare at her, the small chuckle grew a little bit larger. She said, "The two of you are just too much alike." 

Buffy gave her a pointed look and asked, "Just the two of us, Mom?" 

"Fine. The three of us are alike," she said, at last sitting in the armchair. "Tell me about George — please?" 

"You're good with him being half-demon?" Buffy sounded as skeptical as she looked, and Joyce flinched at the hard look in her eyes. 

"I —" She wanted to lie in the worst possible way, but she couldn't. Not with the two of them looking at her. She settled for, "It's too soon to say. I think I will be — especially considering how much the two of you loved him. But — I need time, Buffy. I need time to adjust to all of this." 

Instead of the expected yelling, though, what Joyce got was the first real smile she'd seen from Buffy since her return. And impossible though it seemed, she looked twenty years younger with that smile. "I can live with that — it's honest." 

Hesitantly, she said, "Does that mean you'll tell me about him?" 

"He was Irish. Not very tall, either — under six feet — but just the right size —" 

"For kissing —" 

"Annie!" 

Joyce smiled as she listened to the two of them bicker gently about too much information. 

"It's true, though," Annie said, her arms crossed in front of her and an "I-want" line between her eyes. 

"Maybe, but I don't think Grandma Joyce wanted to hear about that," Buffy said, mildly embarrassed by Annie's sudden determination to tell everyone everything about their family. Perhaps she'd been a bit too generous last night when she gave her leave to talk to friends and family about anything. 

"Actually," Joyce said, waiting until the other two were looking at her, "I'm glad to hear you found someone you loved that much. How did you meet him?" 

"She was interrogating him. Thought he might know more than he was letting on," Annie said, a bit breathlessly. 

"I'm not going to be allowed to tell this story, am I?" 

"Not a chance. You always mess up the good part," she said with barely a pause. To Joyce, she said, "Daddy fell in love with her the minute she started questioning him. He said it was her eyes that did him in." 

Those selfsame eyes were rolling upward as Buffy gave up all hope of telling the story herself. On the other hand, the two of them were getting off to a good start with one another. Joyce had always been a sucker for a good love story, and if Annie made her parents' story just a little too perfect — well, there was time enough later to straighten everyone out. For now, though, she was home again, and life didn't suck nearly as much as she thought it might. There really was hope for the future. 

_to be continued..._


	7. George Interlude 1

**George - Interlude 1**

Year 5? 

It took a year, at least, but I managed to talk Krannock into giving me what passes for paper and pencils. Gormless twit. And I'm talking about me, not Krannock. Ma would call me an idiot or worse for thinking a journal was more important than finding a way home.   
  


~*~*~ 

  
  
Year 7, Month 4, Day 23 

It's ten months since the first whisper of the rebellion reached us, and nothing more until last night. Hardly surprising, considering how badly Krannock reacted when he first heard the rumor making the rounds. I still get nightmares about him whipping me, but I do wonder why he went completely berserk over what he called foolish gossip. 

Anyway, Krannock had the poor sod put to death in front of us all for speaking of it. But painful though his death had been, maybe S'Dev was the lucky one. He couldn't have been in his right mind, claiming the other side was led by a tiny human, of all things.   
  


~*~*~ 

  
  
Year 7, Month 5, Day 18 

Can't write much. That army — the one S'Dev tried to report — it's on the plains outside the city. Christ. Part of me wants the war to be real, but another part wants it to be a fantasy, nothing more. 

I've been here too long. Time was, I'd have risked a whipping or worse just for the chance to join them, but now? Now I'm just another poor bastard too messed up in the head to do anything but hide under the covers. 

No. I won't do that. I can't. I may be dead in the morning, but I can't just wait here any longer. I can't let anyone else rule my life like this.   
  


~*~*~ 

  
  
Escaping from his cell had been absurdly easy, and it took George about two miles of walking to figure out why — he'd been tame for so long that they stopped guarding him. He was disgusted with himself, but at the same time, he was impressed as hell that he'd found some last fragment of hope hiding in his soul. If anyone had asked him a day earlier, he would have said that hope was gone, never to be seen again. 

Three or four miles after that sad epiphany, he was getting winded, even though he was in his braachen form. He'd been doing translation work for so many years that he'd lost any hint of physical fitness he once had. He was sweating heavily by the time he reached the first of the watch fires, and he all but collapsed when the guards pointed guns at him. 

They dragged him to the back of the encampment and put him in a pen with other prisoners. No one seemed to know what to do with him, and he couldn't manage to find a common tongue with any of the guards on duty that shift. At some point the next day, the absurdity of the situation hit him, and he started chuckling to himself over it, trying to figure out how it was that a half-human braachen had managed to find himself a prisoner not once, but twice over. 

He was still laughing when **she** appeared, and he stopped cold, his eyes wide as he took in her appearance. Human? Most definitely. Hard to say where she claimed home, but she had to have come from somewhere with hair dye — the last few inches were blonde, and the rest was brown. Her eyes, though, they were her best feature. They were light and clear, and he was willing to swear on a stack of Bibles that he could see her soul shining through them. He swallowed — gulped, really — and barely noticed when his features slid back to human. 

She frowned at him and said, "Okay — human or demon?" 

"Irish," he answered, blinking as she snorted. 

"I know a guy who might actually understand why you answered that way. But what I'm asking is are you human pretending to be a demon, or are you a real demon?" As she stood there all small and cute, he thought she should give off an air sweet innocence. Instead, she had an energy that sent sparks along George's veins, and he thought there was a pretty good chance that there was more to her than met the eye. But for all that she sent him into a tailspin, he couldn't take his eyes off her. 

"Both. Da is human, Ma is braachen," he said, unable to generate even a mild self-reproof for how utterly besotted he'd become in just the two minutes she'd been standing there. 

"Braachen? Never heard of them. So. You're Irish, and you're half-and-half. Got any ideas about what you want to do with yourself?" It had been so long since anyone spoke to him with anything other than an order that he wasn't sure how to answer. 

When he realized he was still staring at her, he shook himself and said, "I want to follow you."   
  


~*~*~ 

  
  
Year 0, Day 2 of the rest of my life 

Dear God in Heaven, her name is _Buffy_ of all things. What was her mother thinking? What self-respecting warrior goes around with the name of _Buffy_? I wonder if she'd consider a name change — just for professional reasons.   
  


~*~*~ 

  
  
George watched as Herself strode through the camp with a lot more confidence than he'd been able to scare up on his own over the last few years. In the weeks since he managed to put one foot in front of the other and escape from his self-guarded prison, he'd been watching her like a lovesick fool, wondering when he might get up the courage to say more than what he already had — namely the fact that he knew a shitload of languages and could probably help her talk to a great many of her soldiers. 

"George!" He turned and watched Melkin bear down on him. Of all the people he'd met in her army so far, Melkin made him the most uncomfortable. He wasn't sure if it was the fact that Melkin was a mage or that he was a shaman that made him cringe, but since he'd been raised Catholic, it was likely both aspects that made him want to recoil. There was also the fact that he was a right bastard who'd as soon rip a man's head off as speak to him. 

"Yes, Melkin?" A respectful tone seemed to be the key to avoiding a beating by him, and George had been hit enough in his time in Hell to be able to show a submissive face when he had to. 

"You'll be wanted at tonight's meeting. Make sure you clean up before you get there. The bitch doesn't like her army to smell bad," he said, contempt coloring every word he spoke. 

George felt his blood pressure rise, but he said nothing. Melkin was a good three feet taller and could tear him limb from limb without a second thought. He didn't know why Herself kept him around, but it wasn't his business to understand such things. 

"I'll clean up beforehand," he answered to Melkin's back. Though he would have bathed in rotted meat if she had asked it of him, he was grateful for the chance to demand soap from what passed as the quartermaster. Strange how things got turned around. When Krannock held his leash, he could have all the soap he wanted, and paper went begging. Now he had all the paper — real paper — he wanted, but soap was at a premium. Of course, if the lazy sods ever got off their arse, they could make their own, but his attempts to point this out had met with blank stares or outright hostility. 

Considering he'd have to bathe in a cold stream, he was surprisingly cheerful. He'd be clean for the first time in a long time, and maybe she would see that he cleaned up well. Or maybe he wouldn't. It had been a damned long time since he'd seen himself in a mirror, and for all he knew, he could look like Charles Manson. 'Christ. I probably do look just like that freak,' he thought as he waited for the requested cake of soap. 'Long, dark hair, frizzy beard. Hell — I even have the same deep-set eyes.' 

"Bloody hell!" George blushed when he realized he said that last bit out loud. Lucky for him, there was no one near who spoke — 

"What is it with you British and Irish types and that particular phrase?" He stood still for a long moment before turning slowly to see Herself standing right there. 

"I — um — I apolo —" 

"Don't," she said, holding her hand lightly to his mouth. "It brought back a happy memory. Thank you." 

Since he couldn't have spoken — even if her fingers weren't just barely touching his lips — he swallowed and bobbed his head in acknowledgement. He almost groaned when she took her hand away, but he managed to find a small speck of pride to stiffen his spine. 

On the bright side, she was still standing there, looking at him. "Did you get the message about tonight's meeting?" 

"Yes, Melkin told me," he stammered. The only explanation for what happened next was the look of distaste on her face when he mentioned Melkin. It gave him courage to say, "I know it isn't my place, but you don't need him — not with the way he talks about you." 

Her face went a bit hard at that, and she said, "You're right. It isn't your place. Get cleaned up. The meeting is right after we eat." 

He watched her stalk off and called himself a hundred times a fool for saying anything at all.   
  


~*~*~ 

  
  
Year 0, Month 2, Day 16 (or 17, 18 or 19 — I think I lost a few days after Melkin beat me) 

At least now I know why Herself kept Melkin around as long as she did — she was getting information from him. Too bad she won't be getting more. I'm told by Kathy that when Herself found Melkin gloating over my broken body, she pretty much dismembered him with her bare hands, then had a chat with the rest of the army while she waved around one of his arms. I'm told by a number of others that her speech was damned impressive, and that in-fighting has all but stopped. 

I just wish I could remember what I did to set him off. Kathy thinks I'm foolish for worrying about it, and maybe she's right. He's dead, and I'm not. Isn't that what really counts?   
  


~*~*~ 

  
  
He hadn't seen Herself but a handful of times since nearly dying from Melkin's free application of his fists and feet, and he missed the sight of her more than he missed the sight of Ireland. Most of the time, he was three times a fool to think she'd ever notice him, but on rare occasion, he'd permit a brief period of time to get lost in fantasy. In that fantasy, she saw him for the man he'd been, not the one he'd become, and she — 

"George?" 

He jumped half a foot, dropping the arrows he'd been told to deliver when he heard her voice right behind him. He sincerely hoped that one of these days, he might actually see her approach, so he wouldn't end up acting like a nervous virgin the minute she spoke. He turned, nearly falling in his haste both to respond to her and to pick up the arrows. Deciding at last to kneel down to pick up the arrows, he looked up at her, feeling around for the projectiles. "Yes? Ma'am?" 

She squatted next to him to help, saying, "This has to be the craziest army I've ever heard of. Half of them won't go near guns, a quarter of them think anything more complicated than a spear is a sign of the darkest evil, and the rest think the others are crazy for not taking advantage of everything technology has to offer." 

George stopped trying to gather up the arrows, stunned at the speech she'd just given him. "Ma'am?" 

She paused in her efforts, looking him straight in the eye and saying, "Buffy. My name is Buffy. And I'm way too young to be a 'Ma'am.' Got it?" 

"Yes, Ma —" He swallowed and said, "Yes, Buffy. It's just — you're in charge of all this." 

"Yeah. I guess. But if I were doing even a half-assed job, Melkin wouldn't have —" she cut herself off, picking up the last of the arrows and handing them to him. "You almost died because I didn't want to hear what you had to say. I'm sorry about that." 

He caught his breath at the sudden vulnerability and loneliness he saw in her face, realizing abruptly that she wasn't the distant warrior goddess of his dreams. She was a young woman doing the best she could under circumstances that would break most people, and she was doing it without a hint of real support. He'd heard the talk around camp. Most of the demons in the army were waiting for the day she met her match in combat, just so they could get out of the commitments made by their individual chieftains. Of the few humans that had survived to this point, only Kathy was worth a damn, but she was too awed by Hers — by Buffy's reputation to do little more than snap to attention and agree to whatever was asked of her. 

Bringing out at long last the one remaining spark of the personality that used to get him into so much trouble with his teachers, he gave her half a grin and said, "I'm sure I did something to irritate him. Breathing, perhaps?" 

It was enough to startle a small answering smile out of her, and he continued, "I nearly died because of Melkin, not you. Never you." 

"But —" He held up a hand, not quite daring to touch her lips to silence her, but longing to. 

"Never apologize," he said softly. "You're the leader of this army, and the whole lot of them will be on you like starving hounds if they think you're weak. And they're stupid enough to think an apology is a sign of weakness." 

Something seemed to flare to life in her eyes as they looked at one another, and she gave him a slow smile that seemed to light up the dreary day. "Tell me, George. Do you like carrying arrows around?" 

He gave her an answering smile and said, "Not really." 

"I heard a rumor you're a demon with languages." She looked so innocent when she said it, that it took a moment for the exact words to filter through his brain. 

With a bark of laughter, he said, "Some might say that." 

"I could use a good translator," she said, relaxing slightly. 

"I could use a job that doesn't give me splinters," he answered. His stomach was doing a crazy dance as he realized what he'd just agreed to. 'Lord in Heaven,' he prayed silently, 'please don't let me make an ass of myself.' 

She looked like she wanted to say something else, but instead, she stood up all business-like, saying, "Deliver those, then meet me back at my tent. I'll tell you what I need the most help with." 

As she strode off, looking like the queen of the world, he reminded himself that just because she was lonely for a friendly voice, it didn't mean she was interested in him as a man. He just hoped he could convince his reawakened libido of that fact. 

_to be continued..._


	8. Changing of the Guard Part 1

**Changing of the Guard - Part 1**

Even in her quiet moments, she was always in motion, always hyperactive. A finger tapping wildly, erratically against her knee, eyes moving from left to right, body swaying to a song in her head. Calm just didn't do it for her — not with all that energy to burn. And hey, she was the Chosen One — Two — and sitting still wasn't her thing. Not with vamps to stake. 

And there was one hella big vamp for her to stake that night. That son of a bitch was goin' down if she had to put a freakin' mast through his chest to do it. No **way** was he gonna be in one piece come sunrise. All she had to do now was a final weapons check, then she and E could get to it. And damn if that wouldn't feel good. Good enough, maybe, for her to look up Charlie and give him one last shot at her. 

"Faith." 

She turned, her movements liquid for all that she was nearly bouncing, and said, "Hey, E! Just about ready." 

The other woman grimaced slightly at Faith's chosen appellation for her and said, "I'd like to string Charles up for teaching you that dreadful habit." 

Faith grinned at her Watcher and said, "That ain't the only bad habit he taught me. Wanna spice up that diary you're always writing in?" 

Rolling her eyes, Elizabeth Douglas said, "Thank you, but no. I'm quite certain I don't wish to give future generations of Watchers a joint heart attack." Standing only five feet, two inches, Elizabeth wasn't as tall as Faith, yet she managed to intimidate her even without a size advantage. 

"I'm just sayin' —" 

"I know what you're saying," she interrupted, "and you needn't go into further detail with me." At the age of fifty-three, Elizabeth thought she'd had a fairly good grasp of human sexuality. Despite that, her charge continued to surprise her at every turn. It wasn't that she was a prude — not by any stretch of the imagination. She'd grown up in Edinburgh, a street urchin much the way Faith had been, and she'd seen more than her share of human and demonic depravity as a young girl, thanks to the pillock she knew as her father. But Faith always managed to take one step beyond where Elizabeth had gone. It was a tendency that worried her to no end, and she'd been doing what she could to temper the girl's more insane behaviors. 

"Okay, okay," Faith said, missing the look of concern on her Watcher's face as she did one last weapon check. "So who was on the phone?" 

"Mr. Travers," she answered carefully. It was a tricky thing, training a Slayer who despised the Council, though it was hardly a unique situation. 

"Bastard," Faith said, her stance changing to a defensive posture. 

"Yes, well, I'm quite certain his mother would agree with you. Be that as it may, we've been ordered to go to the Hellmouth in California immediately." Elizabeth didn't have long to wait for the inevitable explosion. 

"No **way**!" 

"Faith —" 

"Kakistos, E — I gotta get Kakistos." When Faith made to leave the room, Elizabeth stopped her by the simple expedient of tripping her. She was a relatively inexperienced Slayer, and she didn't expect her Watcher to stick her foot in front of her. She started to stand up, but Elizabeth had a few more tricks up her sleeve, and she was able to keep Faith down with perhaps a bit too much ease. 

In a conversational tone, she said, "If you'd been paying attention last month, you would know how to get out of this hold. Ready to listen?" 

She allowed Faith to vent for a few moments before slightly increasing the pressure on her spine. The resulting pain was enough to shut the girl up, and Elizabeth continued, "Council will deal with Kakistos in another way. Trust me, he won't be permitted to continue, so you needn't worry about that. We have been ordered to go to California, and to California we will go. There's a private plane waiting for us at Logan Airport, and we have about an hour to pack up the necessities. Still listening?" 

"Bitch," Faith said in a sullen, angry tone. 

"Quite," Elizabeth answered, trying very hard to mask her amusement. "Council have assured me that they will send someone 'round to pack the rest of our belongings, but I think you and I both know it will be best to take our dearest possessions with us, right?" 

"You can let me up now," she answered, trying to wriggle free of her Watcher's hold. And damn, she should've paid more attention. What good was being a superhero if you could still get pinned to the ground by an old lady? 

"Right. I could also drop in at the White House on a whim and pay a visit to President Clinton, though I don't think that will be happening any time soon either," she said, maintaining an even pressure. She could hold Faith down for another hour — or longer — if she had to, but she hoped she would see reason before that. And it was far too early to consider letting her up. Elizabeth knew just how conniving her Slayer could be, and she didn't trust her yet not to go after Kakistos. 

"E —" 

She increased the pressure enough to get a yelp out of Faith, then eased off as she said, "I've asked you time and again not to call me that. Council have ordered us to go to California, and no amount of whinging on your part will change the fact that we **will** be going to the Hellmouth there." 

"After the crap they pulled when I was called, how can you trust them?" Faith continued to waste energy struggling, convinced that if she kept at it, Elizabeth would get tired, and she could then go after Kakistos. 

"I trust them, because I must. If I can't trust the Council to do the right thing ultimately, what else is there for me?" She sounded tired and fed up, and Faith didn't bother pointing out that E — that Elizabeth — could trust her. She'd proven too many times that she wasn't that trustworthy. Still, it was the first time Faith had heard anything close to defeat in her Watcher's voice, and it was enough to make her pause. 

She stopped fighting, and asked in a low voice, "Why?" 

Reluctantly, Elizabeth said, "Have you ever wondered how I came to be a Watcher?" 

"Hell yes." It had been one of the first questions Faith asked after Elizabeth gained custody of her. The woman had refused to answer, though, saying instead that Faith had better things to worry about. 

"I was eleven years old when the Watchers' Council sent assassins after my father," she said quietly, ignoring the sudden tension in Faith's shoulders. "He'd been raising demons as part of a money-making scheme, and one got away from him. It killed over thirty people before a local coven was able to take control of it and send it back to Hell." 

"Shit." 

"Precisely. That's the home I grew up in, and I hated it. When I heard there were men trying to kill my father, I tracked them down and offered my help," Elizabeth said, her voice trailing off at the memory. 

Faith didn't know what to say. She'd always imagined that her Watcher grew up in a nice, comfortable, middle-class home with a mother who didn't turn tricks and a father who wasn't a dealer. Come to find out, E had it worse than she did. 

"When he was dead, Council took me with them so they could learn more about his activities. It took six months, and at the end, they realized they couldn't turn me loose on the world as I was, so they chose to raise me themselves. It was safer, you see," Elizabeth said, maintaining tight control over her voice. More than forty years later, and she still felt intensely grateful to the Council for setting her free. 

And yeah, Faith could get that. A foster home probably wasn't the best thing for an eleven-year-old kid who volunteered to help kill her old man. And if that didn't send chills down her back, she wasn't sure what would. Yeah, she knew Elizabeth could be a bitch when she set her mind to it, but murdering her dad? Damn. 

"I owe Council my life. They saved me, you see. And whilst they can be right bastards, they're still the best chance we have to fight evil. And that, my girl, is why you're going to pack your things and get ready to go to California," she said, feeling that she was back on firmer, familiar ground again. Talking about her childhood always made Elizabeth uncomfortable. Some part of her remained convinced that if she spoke of it too often, she would be sent back to the streets of Edinburgh without a second thought. It was a child's nightmare, but one that remained into adulthood. 

Though Faith couldn't see Elizabeth, she didn't have to to know what her face looked like. The bitch had an I-want line that was a mile long when she sounded like that, and Faith had learned there wasn't much that could change her mind when she was that determined to do a thing. 

"What about that other chick?" 

Elizabeth sighed at Faith's continued refusal to say the other Slayer's name. Then again, she'd had a hard time keeping a straight face saying it, so she really didn't have much ground to stand on. "I'm not sure. Mr. Travers said only that Miss Summers was no longer able to continue her duties. I expect I'll get more information from her Watcher." 

"Right. Like he'll say anything." Faith was starting to get uncomfortable. Elizabeth had a knee in her right kidney, and she had enough weight to press her hip bone into the floor. 

"I met Mr. Giles a few years ago. He was a bit stuffy in an earnest sort of way. I believe that when we arrive, he'll explain what the problem is with Miss Summers," she said. She actually knew quite a bit more than that about Rupert Giles — his rebellion had been the stuff of legend for the Watchers of her generation — but Faith had no need to hear that particular piece of gossip. In the event, he had acquitted himself quite well over the years, more than making up for the grievous sins of his youth. She continued, "Now. If I let you up, are you going to try to leave again?" 

"Probably," she said without thinking. And then Faith wanted to kick herself for it. She couldn't lie to save her ass. 

"At the risk of repeating myself, we leave Boston today to go to Sunnydale. You will not go after Kakistos," Elizabeth said in a calm, patronizing voice. She only talked that way when they were fighting, and Faith had the idea that she did it just to wind her up a little bit more. 

Whatever. 

It worked. 

She started fighting harder than ever, managing to wear herself out far more effectively than Elizabeth could have accomplished on her own. Had she been able to flail, she would have been able to free herself. But her Watcher had forgotten more tricks of street fighting than Faith had a hope of ever learning, and she maintained control the entire time. 

After a good twenty minutes of keeping Faith on the floor, she asked again, "If I let you up, will you go to your room and start packing?" 

Tired, defeated, Faith answered, "Yeah." 

'Thank god for small favors. Never thought I'd be too bloody old for this,' Elizabeth thought as she stood and offered a hand to Faith. "I know you're unhappy about this, and I know you trust Council as far as a small child could throw them. Despite that, I have to believe this is for the best." 

"Whatever," Faith muttered, stumbling slightly as she turned to go to her room and start packing. 

~*~*~

At the Council's headquarters in London, Quentin Travers was clearing the last of the paperwork from his desk in an attempt to have things at least moderately under control before he left for California. As head of field operations, not only was he responsible for overseeing the current Slayer and her Watcher — rather, Slayers and Watchers — he was also responsible for managing a number of ongoing investigations into both demonic and magical events. The work was never-ending, and he could have done with a vacation, but this business with Miss Summers put an end to his plans for a week of fishing in the Highlands. 

"Quentin? Working late, I see." 

He'd been playing at Council politics for far too long to allow the other man to see just how distasteful he found his sudden appearance. Instead, Travers looked up with a slight smile and said, "Roger. I'm not the only one, apparently." 

"Yes, well, this business with the Summers girl —" 

"Woman, if Rupert is to be believed," he interrupted. It wasn't often that he could get such an easy jab at Wyndam-Pryce, and he assumed it was because the man was still upset over Council's failure to appoint his son to a position in the field. 

"Yes. Quite," he answered, sounding a bit grim. 

Travers took a closer look and decided that the tone was more for effect than for any true problem. "Was there something you needed before I leave?" 

"I was thinking you might take Wesley with you. He's still a bit ham-handed, and a trip of this nature might knock a few rough edges off him," Wyndam-Pryce said, a little too casually. 

Actually, Travers had been thinking the same thing and had already notified the younger Wyndam-Pryce that he would be going to Sunnydale. Still, no reason to let the elder Wyndam-Pryce know that just yet. Better to have the man think he owed him a favor. 

"Oh? After that business with Lady Haversham, I would have thought you'd be keeping young Wesley at home for a bit," he said, taking careful aim at Wyndam-Pryce's ego. The flush on the older man's neck told Travers he scored a direct hit. 

After a brief stammer, he answered, "I've been given to understand that Wesley might have done a better job of it, had he been given a bit more experience." 

Travers smiled blandly, keeping his amusement out of his voice and eyes when he said, "Perhaps. Are you certain he won't make an ass of himself?" 

In any other case, Travers might have felt a momentary surge of guilt for scoring points off Wyndam-Pryce's son, but the young man was a complete prat. He thought that while much of that may well have been due to having Roger Wyndam-Pryce as a father, Wesley had just turned thirty, and he should be able to stand apart from his father by this time. 

"I've had several chats with Wesley, and I can assure you that he will do well enough," he said. 

'I imagine you have, you old fool,' thought Travers. Aloud, he said, "If you're sure, then, I'll make arrangements to have him along." 

"I can let him know." 

"No need for that, Roger. I have to go to the Watchers' quarters as it is. I'll talk to him myself," Travers said, determined not to let the man destroy what little confidence Wesley had gained as a result of being told he would be going to Sunnydale. 

"It's no trouble —" 

"Of course not. As you said, though, it's getting late. I should imagine Myra is waiting for you at home. And I'm sure she'll be pleased to hear that Wesley is taking a trip to the Hellmouth." While Travers was not unmindful of the irony of his statement, Wyndam-Pryce, stolid and unimaginative, would never see the joke. 

Outmaneuvered by the other man, Wyndam-Pryce nodded once and said, "You're right, of course. Shall I see you in the morning?" 

"Unlikely," Travers answered, putting a few files into his briefcase before standing up. He turned off his desk lamp and moved to leave his office. "I think we'll want to leave as early as possible. Any messages for Wesley?" 

"Hm? No. I don't think that's necessary," he said, leaving the office just ahead of Travers. 

And Travers, locking the door behind him, thought, 'Of course it's not necessary. What father would want to wish his son well? Perhaps giving Wesley a potential might not be such a bad thing after all. If we get him out of the country for a good, long while, maybe he'll get over his father.' 

Neither man said another word when they parted company. There was, after all, nothing more to say. 

~*~*~

Confused, Buffy looked around as she tried to determine where she was. She had a distinct memory of being on the plains outside Kilsop just a moment earlier and a moment before that, she thought she'd been at the diner in Los Angeles. But neither location was anything like the sight in front of her now. Gentle hills, covered in a lush, green grass stretched as far as she could see, and stone walls cut across the landscape, dividing it neatly. 

"Where —" 

"Ireland, my love," George said from behind as he wrapped his arms around her. 

Smiling, she leaned back into his embrace, closing her eyes so she could focus on the feel of him, the scent of him. "Where have you been? I've been waiting for you." 

"I've been waiting for you to find a bit of balance, _a ghrá mo chroí_. After all, you've had a busy time of it these last few days, what with seeing your family and friends," he said. The last few words were only just audible, because he'd buried his nose in her hair. 

"Did you miss me?" She tried to snuggle deeper into his arms, but they were already as tight against one another as they could be. 

"You know I did. I always do," he said, nuzzling her ear. He pushed his hips forward slightly and said, "And if this doesn't prove it, I don't know what will." 

"Gotta say a frisky husband is a thing of beauty." She turned her head, trying to capture his lips for a kiss, but he pulled away slightly, laughing at the look on her face. 

"Greedy old cow. You only want me for my body." 

She looked into his dark eyes, melting inside at the love she saw there. "Kind of like you for your mind better, but right now, I'll settle if I have to." 

"Settle, will you?" His hands started wandering down her body, touching — 

Buffy awoke with a start, uncertain what had broken her sleep, angry that her dream time with George had been cut short. She looked around for Annie, nearly allowing panic a foothold before she remembered that her mother had invited her to spend the night. Buffy had been reluctant to allow it, but the combined persuasive efforts of Joyce and Annie proved too much for her, and she agreed. She was glad the two of them were getting along so well, but part of her — the paranoid part — was convinced it was all happening too fast. 

"What's happening too fast?" Buffy looked up to see Giles peering at her, a quizzical expression on his face. 

Blushing slightly, she answered, "Did I say that out loud? Sorry," before she crawled out of her sleeping bag. 

"There's no reason to apologize. But I am curious as to what's happening too fast," he said. Then, stammering a bit, he added, "I know this is a difficult time for you — for all of us, really — and if there's anything I can do, you will let me know, won't you?" 

She wanted to give him a fake, bright smile and tell him nothing was wrong, but she couldn't force the lie past her lips. After a few false starts, she sighed, then stood up. "I spent years thinking about what it would be like to come home, and I had it all planned out. Annie and I would hide out here in your place for a while. I'd let Mom know what happened, and I would tell her about Annie. If she didn't freak about George being half demon, and she didn't harp about demons being monsters, then I'd introduce the two of them. Maybe." 

Picking up the narrative, Giles said, "Instead, you find yourself odd man out when it comes to your mother and daughter?" 

"Something like that. They've been getting along so well these last couple of days that I'm —" 

When she didn't finish her sentence, he said, "Jealous?" 

Looking down at her feet and feeling as if she were ten years old, she nodded and muttered, "Yeah." 

"It's hardly surprising, you know. Grandparents the world over have been driving their children mad from the beginning of time because they get along so well with their grandchildren," he said thoughtfully. 

She looked up at that and said, "Huh?" 

He smiled at her before turning to go to the kitchen. Over his shoulder, he answered, "Grandmother Giles used to make my father quite angry, particularly when she would spoil me with treats and outings she'd denied him at that age." 

She followed him, asking, "Did they fight in front of you?" 

"No, no. Nothing like that. Dad told me about it after I returned to the Council. It was his way of reestablishing family ties," he said, pulling eggs out of the refrigerator. "Sunny side up, I think you said you preferred?" 

"Yeah. That's fine. So you and your dad were able to talk after you returned to the fold?" She leaned hipshot against the doorway, watching him as he fussed with breakfast. The scene was sufficiently domestic and sane to make her feel slightly unreal, given all that she'd been through. In the last few months especially, with the push to the capital, meals had been hectic affairs. Camp fires had been hastily built, and as soon as the meat was cooked, they were extinguished, and the army marched on again. She shook the images from her mind and concentrated on enjoying the sight of a meal being prepared in leisurely fashion. 

"We were able to talk before then, actually. Of course, much of the time it was at the level of shouting, but we did communicate," he said. "It's just that after the Eyghon business, he and I were finally able to react to one another as adults rather than as father and son." 

"Funny. I thought you didn't get along with him. Ever." 

He turned to her, confused, and said, "Whatever gave you that idea?" 

"Well — you know — you told me. Something about an irritating speech when you were a kid," she said, feeling more than a bit defensive at discovering she'd gotten it wrong. 

"I was a ten-year-old boy who was impatient to get outside to play with his mates when my father told me about my destiny. He could have been lecturing on the merits of my favorite comic book, and I would have found it tiresome," Giles explained, just barely managing to suppress a chuckle. It was clear she was embarrassed, and he had no desire to add to her discomfort. 

When he turned to put the pan on the stove, she said, "Okay. I can get that. David used to get the same way when George and I kept him from going out to play with the soldiers. He thought history was boring." 

Looking over at her, he asked tentatively, "How old was David when he —" 

"Nine. Carrie was six. And George, as far as we were able to figure out, was forty-one," she said. "Wait a minute — you read comics? And you still didn't get the Spiderman references?" 

Exasperated, he said, "England had its own comics, and very few of them had anything to do with superpowers. Even if they had, I doubt my parents would have allowed me to read them." 

Pleased at being given a rare glimpse of Giles as a boy, Buffy said, "Why not? I mean, with the whole Watcher thing." 

"It would have been precisely because of the 'whole Watcher thing.' I would have found it confusing — any child would have — to be told on one hand that the comic books about superheroes were fantasy, but on the other, there was in fact a true superhero," he said, sliding Buffy's egg onto a small plate and handing it to her. "Damn. Forgot the toast." 

"No big. I don't need it," she said. 

Ignoring her, he put two pieces of bread in the toaster and continued, "In any event, I believe my father would have found the American comics of that era appalling." 

Buffy reached around to pull out a fork and asked, "Because they weren't British?" 

He directed a mild glare at her and answered, "Because almost all the superheroes were men. Given that the one true superhero in the world is — usually — a teenaged girl, I'm sure you can see why there would have been a problem." 

"Ah," she said delicately, before eating her egg. Still standing in the kitchen as she ate, she thought about other questions to ask about his life while he was still in a talkative mood, but she couldn't come up with anything just yet. Instead, her mind kept turning to Kendra's replacement. She and her Watcher were due in that day, and Buffy wondered what Faith would be like. 

"You know, I do have a marvelous piece of furniture I call a table. I find it works quite well when taking a meal," Giles said, watching her eat. 

"Ha, ha — not. I was thinking about Faith," she said, refusing to budge from the doorway. 

He sighed, giving up the notion that they would have breakfast in a civilized fashion, and put his own egg on a plate. When the toast came up, he handed a slice to her, shuddering slightly at her preference for eating it dry. "What is it about her that you were wondering?" 

"Will she be like Kendra? Not knowing who her family is?" It had been more than twenty years, but Buffy still felt a chill run down her spine whenever she thought about the fact that Kendra had been raised by her Watcher and had never known her family. 

"From what I understand, Faith moved in with her Watcher three years ago, so in answer to your question, no, her background won't be the same," he said before taking a bite of his egg. 

Buffy frowned at that piece of news and said, "The Council didn't trust her family?" 

"The Council obtained custody of Faith from the State of Massachusetts. I don't know the specifics, but Faith had been removed from her home before she was identified as a potential Slayer," he said, irritated that she'd so quickly jumped to the wrong conclusion. She hadn't said it in as many words, but over the past few days, her comments about the Council had given him the distinct impression that she found the organization wanting. Granted, it had a certain ruthlessness, but Buffy certainly hadn't come in contact with that aspect of the group. As a result, he felt as if she were judging him — her only direct experience with the Council since Merrick — and finding him wanting. 

About to continue the conversation, Buffy paused, realizing she'd hit a nerve. "Sorry. It's just that for the last twenty years or so, I've heard stories about the Watchers' Council, you know?" 

"Ah yes, Hell's rumor mill. The perfect source of accurate information about the Council," he said, feeling increasingly defensive. She'd never bothered to learn about the group when she was a teenager, and now, here she was with twenty years' worth of demonic propaganda filling her head as she sat in judgment. 

She put her plate on the countertop, using more force than necessary. It didn't break, but a fine crack ran from the center to the rim. "It would be nice if you'd give me the benefit of the doubt and assume I took the rumors with a cup of salt. But some of the stories were pretty damned persistent, and the details were pretty much the same." 

"Oh?" Giles raised a single eyebrow and asked, "What might those stories have been about?" 

"How 'bout the one where the Council throws a Slayer into a locked building with a vampire when she turns eighteen?" Buffy groaned inside as soon as the words were out. She'd wanted to have this conversation when they were both calm and could discuss it like rational adults. She hadn't wanted to use it as a salvo in an argument. And judging by the way Giles paled when she said it, she guessed it was a direct hit. 

He swallowed convulsively before finally saying, "The cruciamentum." No longer defensive, Giles felt an uneasy guilt at her revelation. 

Forcing herself to keep a mild tone, she asked, "Is that what they call it? In Hell, the demons who knew about it called it home delivery for vamps. They used to ask me why the Council didn't do the same for everyone else." 

"Buffy —" 

"I had no trouble at all convincing myself that you wouldn't have put me through that," she said, giving him a look that spoke volumes on her feelings about the subject. "I'll be very unhappy if someone tries to burst that particular bubble." 

He hesitated slightly before saying, "Understood." 

Giving him a bright, patently false smile, she said, "Glad to hear it. Because I have a feeling I'll need your help to make sure the Council never, ever does that to a Slayer again." 

"That particular tradition has been in place for centuries," he said, carefully choosing his words so as not to accidentally destroy her illusion that he would have said no to the test. "The Council are unlikely to give it up on your say-so and mine." 

She nodded, saying, "Believe it or not, I get that. But I'm sure you and I can come up with a pretty convincing argument." 

"And if we can't?" 

"Then we move on to Plan B," she said. 

Buffy suspected he may have jumped to the wrong conclusion when he lost more color and started stammering badly, at last saying, "You wouldn't — that is to say — not war?" 

"No, silly! Declaring war on the Council is Plan C, to be used only if Plan B — blackmail — doesn't work." 

_to be continued..._


	9. Changing of the Guard Part 2

**Changing of the Guard - Part 2**

The trip to California had been silent, much as Elizabeth expected. Faith generally preferred to be more vocal in her displeasure but only if she thought she had a chance of winning the argument. When there wasn't a possibility of that, she dropped into an icy mope. Elizabeth had never quite managed to figure out what good Faith thought that might do. Certainly, the last three years should have taught her that the silent treatment didn't work, yet still, the girl resorted to it when all else failed. 

They'd landed in Los Angeles early the previous evening, taking a room at one of the airport hotels, because Elizabeth didn't care to arrive on the Hellmouth when it was full dark. Her explanation of this to Faith earned her a sullen glare that was finished off by an eye roll. After that, Elizabeth made a game of it, to see how many times she could get her Slayer to glare at her before they turned in for the night. She kept her chatter light and thoroughly inane, and in less than an hour, Faith had a full-fledged temper tantrum. 

Elizabeth made a mental note to use that technique in the future, because once Faith aired her grievances, both real and imagined, she was infinitely easier to deal with. By the time they went to bed, Faith was even joking again. They weren't precisely pleasant jokes, as they were about Miss Summers' apparent inability to manage her job, but Elizabeth was pleased nonetheless. She'd been dealing with Faith's arrogance long enough to recognize the insecurity that drove it and not be worried about what she said while trying to boost her confidence. 

The next morning, they took their time getting dressed and having breakfast before heading to the car rental agency. The drive to Sunnydale was a little more than two hours, and Elizabeth saw no need to rush them through the day. Nighttime and its dangers would arrive soon enough — a problem even when there wasn't a hellmouth involved — and she very much wanted Faith to be relaxed and on top of her game before she started her duties that evening. 

Again, much of Faith's conversation revolved around her fighting abilities and the fact that she would show "her" how it was done. Elizabeth allowed it up until the moment they started seeing signs for the Sunnydale exit along the freeway. 

"Miss Summers survived for two years on top of a Hellmouth. That's no small accomplishment," she said, when Faith paused to draw breath. 

"Couldn't have been all that good. I wouldn't be here if she hadn't died once, right?" Faith stretched out her legs and arms as much as possible in the small confines of the car. She finished by cracking her neck and settling back into her seat. 

"Her death was foretold in a prophecy, yet she managed to come back with the help of a friend," she answered, emphasizing friend in the hope that Faith would take the hint and make one in Sunnydale. "My point is that no matter what you think of her inability to function as a Slayer now, she eliminated the Master of Aurelius and thwarted at least two attempts to bring about the end of the world." 

"Yeah. Whatever," Faith said, turning to look out the window. 

Elizabeth suppressed the urge to pull over to the breakdown lane so she could throttle her charge and continued, "There must be a very good reason for her to request your reassignment here. Kindly recall that fact when you meet her. I don't think I'd care to see you embarrass yourself." 

"I get it, okay? I won't make an ass of myself. Happy now?" Faith put her feet on the dashboard and sank more deeply into her seat. Elizabeth sighed quietly, wishing the progress Faith made since the previous night hadn't disappeared so quickly. 

~*~*~

"Hey, sweetie!" Standing just inside her mother's front door, Buffy gave Annie a hug, surprised at how much she'd missed her after just one night away. 

When air became an issue, Annie pushed away, answering the look of hurt on Buffy's face with, "I missed you too, but you were hugging too hard." 

Buffy reached over to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear before saying, "There's no such thing as hugging too hard." 

Annie just snorted, then said, "Grandma Joyce said she wants to talk to you. Can I go back to Uncle Rupert's place now, though? I left my notebook there, and I want to write about last night." 

"Sure thing," Buffy said. "I'll be along soon. Remember to watch for traffic. Don't —" 

"— talk to any strange demons. Got it," Annie said with a grin as she put her backpack on. "Later." 

After she closed the door behind Annie, Buffy took a deep breath to relax before talking to Joyce. She was still somewhat nervous around her mother, and she wasn't sure she would ever feel completely comfortable around her again, given what they'd both been through. 'At least we're not at each other's throats,' Buffy thought before she called out, "Mom?" 

She made her way back to the kitchen and found Joyce putting away lunch. "Annie said you wanted to ask me something?" 

Joyce looked away from the refrigerator and barely avoided flinching when she saw Buffy standing there. Even now, even knowing what had happened to her, Joyce still had a hard time labeling the woman in front of her as her daughter. It wasn't her hair so much — though the sight of the long dreadlocks was enough to make her cringe — nor was it the scarring on her face and arms. Mostly, it was that Buffy's face had taken on such a hard, closed look. 

She took a deep breath and offered a smile before saying, "I was thinking we could have a welcome home party for you!" 

Buffy blinked, uncertain how to answer. She stood there for a few moments, contemplating the horror her mother proposed before she saw potential salvation on the kitchen island. "What happened with this? An accident?" She held up two pieces of wood, and waited for an answer. 

"That? Oh. It was a tribal mask from Africa. Annie broke it, I'm afraid," Joyce said. 

Before she could mention the party again, Buffy frowned and broke in with, "Really? She's usually pretty careful with stuff." 

"I'm sure it was an accident," Joyce said. "About the par —" 

"How much was it worth? I'll pay you back," Buffy said, hoping to keep the conversation on the broken artwork. 

"Buffy, don't worry about it. I'm sure Annie didn't mean to break it in half like that. Anyway, I know someone who works in wood, and they should be able to repair it," Joyce said. "Wait a minute — how can you repay me?" 

"Looting," Buffy said, putting the pieces of the mask down before snagging a banana from the fruit bowl. 

"Looting? You looted? When did you loot? Oh my god — my daughter looted. How could you loot? What kind of —" Joyce broke off, then held up her hands and said, "No. It's not my place to judge your decisions." 

Pleased at getting her mother off the subject of the party, Buffy said, "Sure it is. You're my mother. You'll always judge what I do. But if it makes you feel better, I only ever looted from the rich bad guys. I left the poor ones alone." 

"You're mocking me," Joyce said, looking amused, if mildly irritated. 

"Maybe just a little. But really, it's the truth. I never robbed from the poor," Buffy said. She peeled the banana and took a small bite before adding, "Anyway, the point is, I can pay you for the mask or for the repairs just as soon as Giles finds buyers for some of the stuff we brought back." 

Curious despite herself, she said, "What kind of things did you bring? They can't have been very large." 

"Gems, mostly. A few of them mystical, most of them not." Buffy took another small bite of the banana, relishing the flavor of it and working hard not to eat too fast. She'd missed a lot of things in Hell, and fresh fruit on demand was near the top of the list. 

"If you have jewelry, I might know a few buyers," Joyce said, the party apparently forgotten. 

"No can do. The rings and amulets I have are magical, and they really shouldn't be out in the general public." Buffy took her third bite, forcing herself to eat more slowly. It was difficult, particularly when all she wanted to do was moan in pure, unadulterated bliss at the pleasure before shoving the banana into her mouth whole. 

Joyce cocked her head, a slight frown forming, and asked, "Then who will you sell them to?" 

Buffy swallowed before answering, "The Watchers' Council. Giles said they're always on the lookout for mystical artifacts. He figures I can probably get a decent price for most of it." 

"And if you can't?" 

Buffy smiled and said, "I'm pretty sure the Council is going to see things my way." 

"And if they don't? What will you do then? Declare war on them?" Joyce started pacing in the kitchen, her mind flying in ten directions at once as she wondered if she was about to lose her daughter again. 

"What is it with you and Giles? Why do you both just automatically assume I'll declare war if I don't get what I want?" Annoyed, Buffy finished the last of her banana without really tasting it. "I mean, yeah, okay, I started a war to get home, but the circumstances were way different and it wasn't like I actually **intended** to start a civil war and overthrow the government and oh my god — no wonder you two are so worried." 

Joyce shrugged and said, "It's not that I want to believe the worst of you. It's just that — you have to admit that starting a war is pretty significant." 

"I know that," Buffy said. "And in my defense, I didn't actually start out with war in mind. All I was trying to do was find another portal home. But one thing led to another, and before I knew it I met a group of demons who were trying to do the same thing I was. It all kind of — snowballed." 

Buffy watched her mother with a pleading expression on her face. It was bad enough that everyone she loved thought she was a warmonger. Worse still was that she felt like she was sixteen again and trying to explain why she flunked a math test. 

"I understand. I just — no more wars, okay, honey?" The absurdity of the request hit both women at the same moment, and they burst into laughter. Each tried to calm down to the point where speech was possible, though for several minutes, it was a lost cause. 

When they finally calmed down again, Buffy hugged Joyce and said, "Thanks. I needed that." 

Joyce drew back a bit and said, "I think we both did. When will you find out if the Council will buy the jewelry?" 

"I'm not sure. Maybe tomorrow or the day after. Some guy named Travers is coming in with a woman — damn. Can't remember her name. Anyway, she's a seer, and he's bringing her along to make sure I'm me," she answered. Then, pulling out of Joyce's arms, she added, "Right now, I need to get back to Giles' place. The new Slayer is coming in this afternoon, and I want to be there to greet her." 

"That's nice. You can invite her to your welcome-home party," Joyce said with a pleasant expression on her face. "Oh! And maybe you can invite Mr. Travers and that other person from the Watchers' Council." 

Buffy froze, looking at her mother much the same way as a deer caught in the headlights of a car. 

~*~*~

"Straighten your jacket, Faith," Elizabeth said just before knocking on Mr. Giles' door. "And either spit out your gum or swallow it." 

"Geez, E. Get a grip, will you? It's not like he's —" Faith swallowed her gum abruptly as the door opened to reveal a young woman who looked to be about her age. Her fashion sense was — not. She figured the girl must be under some kind of curse, because who on earth would wear — 

"Good afternoon. I'm Elizabeth Douglas," she said, smiling pleasantly and holding out her hand to the girl. 

She seemed puzzled by the outstretched hand, looking at it for a moment before walking back into the apartment and calling out, "Uncle Rupert? They're here!" 

Faith muttered, "Does that mean I get to —" 

"Try it, and I'll have you running laps around the town," Elizabeth interrupted in a low voice. The girl must be Miss Summers, but she had left them standing there as if they were selling some product door-to-door. 

Before her ire had a chance to turn into full blown anger, Rupert Giles appeared at the door and opened it fully. He said, "So sorry that you had to stand out there. I think we've met once or twice, haven't we, Miss Douglas?" 

"Yes. I believe the last time was some seven years ago, just before you took over the training of one of the potentials," she said, holding out her hand to him. 

He shook it and said, "Yes. Caroline Weatherly. Splendid young girl. She's married now." 

"Is she? How lovely." Elizabeth pulled Faith forward slightly and said, "May I present Faith, the Vampire Slayer?" 

Giles smiled warmly and said, "Welcome to Sunnydale, Faith. It's a pleasure." 

Faith gave him a slow, sultry smile and said, "Damn. If I'd known Watchers came this young and pretty, I mighta traded after all." 

She ignored Elizabeth's pained, "Faith, please." 

Blushing slightly, he stammered, "Traded? I don't understand." 

Elizabeth's expression turned grim, and she said, "Roger Wyndam-Pryce thought his son might be a more suitable Watcher for Faith once she was called." 

"That's absurd! He knows perfectly well that once a Watcher is assigned to a potential, there's no turning back," Giles said. 

"He made enough of a stink about my suitability that Quentin Travers ended up flying over to do an on-site inspection at the behest of the full Council," she said. The nonsense back in June was still enough to raise her hackles, and it was with a visible effort that she forced herself to calm down again. "Well. I've introduced you to my Slayer. Would you care to do the same?" 

"Oh. Yes. Of course. Buffy had to stay and chat with her mother a bit, but I'm sure she'll be along soon," Giles said, taking the hint that Elizabeth didn't wish to discuss the issue further. Unfortunately, he would have to bring it up again, so she wouldn't be surprised when Travers showed up with young Wesley in tow. He thought perhaps they could discuss it during patrol that night. At least that way, if she felt the need to express her anger physically, there would possibly be one or two vampires for her to stake. 

Gesturing in confusion toward Annie, who watched from the kitchen, Elizabeth said, "I thought —" 

"No, no." He turned and said, "Annie, come along. I'd like to introduce you to Faith, the Vampire Slayer, and her Watcher, Elizabeth Douglas." When she rejoined the group, he put his hand on her shoulder and said, "Annie is Buffy's daughter." 

Though Faith was the first to regain her voice, the best she could manage was, "Huh?" 

~*~*~

"— years, and in less than five days, she's reduced me to a teenager again. Unbelievable. Completely unbelievable!" Buffy stormed into Giles' apartment, continuing a conversation she'd apparently been having with herself for the several blocks between her mother's house and Giles' apartment. 

Giles stood up from the couch, turning to say, "Buffy —" 

"A party! She wants to throw a welcome home party for me," she said as she headed into the kitchen, too involved in her rant to pay much attention to much of anything around her. "And if that's not bad enough, she wants to invite Dad along to the shindig. I mean, I remember they didn't have the smoothest divorce, but I didn't think she hated him enough to spring a thirty-eight-year-old daughter on him without at least a hint beforehand." 

"Buffy —" 

She paused at the refrigerator before turning sharply and grabbing at the bottle of scotch on the bar. "Not only my father, but hey! What the hell? Let's invite the new Slayer and her Watcher. And while we're at it, let's invite the frickin' Council as well —" 

"Buffy —" 

"— Because really, my life didn't suck enough these last —" 

"Buffy!" 

At that, she finished pouring her drink, looked up and saw Giles standing there. He seemed a bit — peevish. "What?" 

He started to say something, then seemed to change his mind. Instead, he took a deep breath and said, "I'd like to introduce you to Faith, the Vampire Slayer, and her Watcher, Elizabeth Douglas." 

Buffy sighed and came out of the kitchen, muttering, "Great. They're here, and I'm acting like a complete lunatic." 

Just as quietly, he replied, "And this is different from your normal behavior in what way?" 

Buffy stepped on his foot at that, and after giving him a completely insincere smile of apology, she turned to Faith and said, "Sorry I wasn't here to meet you. Mom was busy planning my social calendar for the week. Have a good trip?" 

She watched as the younger Slayer stood up slowly, seeming to stretch every muscle in her body, which naturally bared her sixteen-year-old midriff. 'Wonder who the show's for — me or Giles,' Buffy thought, schooling her expression to one of polite interest while she fought the urge to tell Faith to stop dressing like a slut. 

Faith shrugged one shoulder and cocked her head before saying, "Yeah. It was okay." Buffy noted Faith's posture and pose, the one indicating insecurity and the other willful defiance. She wondered if she'd presented the same picture at that age, and she made a mental note to check with Giles. He'd remember. 

Turning to Elizabeth, who had stood up without putting on a show, Buffy smiled and held out her hand, saying, "I'm glad you're here. Where are you staying?" 

Elizabeth smiled and said, "We've a room at the Sunnydale Inn for now, but I imagine we'll be in a house soon enough. Mr. Giles said there's little difficulty in buying properties here." 

Buffy smiled back at her, one part of her busy making with the nice, the other busy wondering how the hell such a small and prim woman could possibly hope to manage Faith. Once all the social niceties were taken care of, Buffy said, "Giles and I were talking about how to handle this, and we figured I could take you guys out on patrol —" 

"Screw this," Faith said, turning on her heel to leave. 

"Faith!" Elizabeth's tone was sharp and decisive, and Buffy's estimation of her went up a couple of notches. It was clear that she had Faith's respect in the way the girl — young woman — stopped short of actually leaving. 

Faith turned back to them and said, "This is bull. We got dragged across the country, because Jungle Jane here doesn't wanna do her job anymore. Fine. She doesn't want it, she doesn't get a say in how I do it." 

Giles and Elizabeth both went pale, then red at that little speech, and Buffy smiled at Faith. She ignored the small gasp from Annie, who was sitting on the stairs, and said, "A little cranky, are you?" 

"You know what? I am. I'm sick and tired of this sh —" 

Elizabeth said sharply, "Faith —" 

"— shtuff. There's a vamp in Boston that's still wandering around, because **you** decided you couldn't hack it anymore. Fine. So you're an old lady. Why not just go out and get killed like a normal Slayer?" Faith stood there, quivering with rage, her attention focused on Buffy. 

"Been there," Buffy said, walking around the couch and not sounding nearly as dangerous as she was at that moment. 

"Done that," she said as she reached Giles' desk, warming up to the rhythm off starting a happy little one-on-one war. 

"Burned the t-shirt," she said as she reached Faith and grabbed her right arm, quickly twisting it around the girl's back before she realized her intent. "Open the door, Faith. I think you and I need to have a chat." 

Giles stepped forward, intending to separate the pair, and said, "Buffy —" 

"It's okay, Giles. We're just going to go some place quiet that doesn't have all kinds of breakable things like nearby walls and people," Buffy said. She jerked on Faith's arm and said to her, "Isn't that right?" 

"Fu —" 

Elizabeth warned, "Language, Faith!" 

"Hell yeah," she said, her tone sullen. She opened the door and said, "You can let go, now. I'm up for a dance." 

It wasn't until Buffy cleared the threshold that she released Faith and said, "Across the street and north two blocks, there's a small park where we can — dance." 

Faith took off, with Buffy close behind. Both ignored the Watchers calling out after them. When Giles realized it was a lost cause, he turned back to get his keys, only to find Annie standing there. "I don't think Mom's in a good mood." 

~*~*~

"Sir?" 

Travers looked up to see Wesley hovering. He suppressed the urge to sigh, both at the man and his grating attentiveness, and said, "Yes?" 

"It's just — I wanted to thank you for giving me this chance to prove myself," he said, looking like nothing so much as an oversized puppy, ready to please a new master. "I know I made one or two small missteps during the Haversham affair, and there really is no —" 

"I hardly call setting fire to the west wing of their manor house a small misstep, Wyndam-Pryce," said Travers as he continued glancing through his notes. 

Wesley shifted uneasily and said, "Yes, well — there had been a very good —" 

"I'm sure there was," Travers said as repressively as possible. He'd read through all reports of the incident, and if he heard one more attempt to explain the disaster, he might well have to open the door of the aircraft, just to escape. 

It was apparent that Wesley had picked up on this, because he changed gears and said suddenly, "Do you think we'll see any vampires whilst we're in Sunnydale?" 

Looking up finally at the wistful note in his voice, Travers answered, "If Rupert Giles' reports are to be believed, I think it's highly unlikely we'll be able to avoid them." 

Wesley smiled at that, looking proud, and said, "Very good indeed. I found my contact with vampires under training conditions to be quite exhilarating. I can hardly wait to see what they're like in the wild — so to speak. It's all very exciting." 

~*~*~

"The park's just up ahead," Giles said, slowing down a bit for Elizabeth. 

She was having none of it and said, "Go. Don't wait for me. I'll catch up when I've taken these blasted heels off." 

Elizabeth stopped on the sidewalk, cursing the impulse she'd had to dress nicely for the day's meeting. If she'd had any sense at all, she would have realized that Faith might pull a stunt like this. She pulled her left shoe off easily enough, but when she went to remove her right, she toppled slightly and overbalanced. She would have gone down but for a steadying hand under her arm. 

She looked at Annie and said, "Thank you, my dear," as she finished removing the offending shoe. "Come on. Let's run for it." 

When the pair reached the park, they stopped next to Giles, who was looking slightly dazed by the sight in front of them. "Good lord," he murmured. 

Elizabeth, a tone of wonder and awe in her voice, said, "Sweet Jesus, she's fast. Was she always that fast?" 

"No — not really," he stammered. 

Standing between the two Watchers, Annie spoke up at that point, her voice mildly critical as she said, "She's not doing very well. She keeps dropping her left shoulder — see? And she stumbled a little just then. I think it's because she started bleeding." 

Both Elizabeth and Giles looked at her, and each started to speak before Elizabeth deferred to Giles. He said, "What do you mean by bleeding?" 

Absently, Annie said, "You know — her cycle. It always confuses her a little when it starts." 

"She said nothing about needing —" Giles said before cutting himself off. 

It was too late, though. Ever helpful, Annie said, "I could smell her when she came back. Ooh! Good one, Mom!" 

Elizabeth looked up at Giles, mildly alarmed, and said, "She could —" 

"Buffy! Faith! Stop this at once," he called out. As diversions went, it was pathetic, but Giles didn't have much to work with. Neither he nor Buffy had considered how to explain Annie's heritage to the Council, and he had glossed over the issue earlier when talking to Elizabeth and Faith about what he knew of Buffy's history in Hell. 

He and Elizabeth stepped forward as one, then stopped, neither with any idea how to get the two Slayers to stop fighting. After a few moments, she said, "Did you have this particular problem with Kendra?" 

"Yes, but in that case, Buffy called a truce before any serious damage could be done," he said worriedly. 

Still watching, she said, "Any chance she'll call one now?" 

Giles looked down at her and said, "You don't sound as if you want her to." 

A guilty flush stole up her neck, and she said, "To be honest, I'm not sure I do. Your Slayer, Mr. Giles, is poetry in motion, if you don't mind my saying so. Time has not withered her capacity one bit." 

At that, he looked at Buffy again, wincing slightly at a blow she landed on Faith's back, and said with a faint hint of pride and excitement, "It really hasn't, has it? She's certainly faster than she was as a teenager. And just look at that move. But I suppose we should try to put a stop to it." 

Annie, who had drifted off to the side for a better view, said, "They look like they're having fun." 

~*~*~

"Exciting is hardly the word I would use, Wyndam-Pryce. Perhaps 'dangerous' would be more appropriate, don't you think?" Travers was beginning to think the better solution might be to pitch the boy — man — out of the airplane instead. Reluctantly, he decided that while it would provide an immediate short-term benefit, the elder Wyndam-Pryce would likely raise a fuss. 

Wesley flushed when his error was pointed out to him, and he said, "I'm sorry, sir. I had no desire to imply the situation at the Hellmouth is anything other than serious, but you see, part of my dissertation covered how vampires and other demons might react to the presence of significant mystical energies. I thought perhaps that —" 

"Yes, yes, I'm sure. Unfortunately, I think I must impress upon you the serious nature of the situation in California. The fact that two Slayers now reside there is no cause for celebration," Travers said, noting with no small irony that he was beginning to sound as utterly pretentious as the great uncle for whom he'd been named. 

"Of course, sir," stammered Wesley, as he scrambled to explain himself. "It's just that aside from those few controlled circumstances, I haven't really had a chance to — er — get my feet wet. So to speak." 

Travers considered hammering the point in a little bit deeper, but some small vestige of sympathy for Wesley remained. 'Besides which,' he thought, as he gazed sternly at the Watcher standing before him, 'if I keep up at this rate, I'll not only be more obnoxious than Uncle Quentin, I might actually surpass Roger.' 

Aloud, he said, "Working with a Slayer is a very solemn honor, whether she's new to her responsibilities or has, apparently, managed to survive decades with them." 

Wesley frowned at that and said, "But I thought the Council always emphasized the fact that Watchers remain though Slayers die. Doesn't that indicate the Slayer is a weapon, more or less, and that she should be honored to work with us?" 

"Of course," said Travers. "But doesn't the warrior who wields a rare sword feel honored to handle it whilst it's in his possession?" 

~*~*~

"Say it!" Buffy had her arm around Faith's neck and was beginning to put pressure on her carotids. 

"No way!" Every time Faith tried to slip away, Buffy was somehow there, preventing escape. 

"I mean it. Say it, and I won't make you pass out," she said, clamping down just a little bit harder. If she were being honest, though, a part of her really didn't want Faith to cry "Uncle!" It had been so long since she sparred for the hell of it that she'd forgotten the joy she'd once found in just letting go without worrying about having to make a kill or a fake kill to get another demon clan on board. Of course, that joy had occasionally driven Giles up the side of a crypt, because she would prolong a fight rather than take a vamp out, but hey, like the song says, girls just wanna have fun. 

"Dammit! Fight fair!" Faith was trying to gouge at Buffy's arm, but she was starting to see spots in front of her eyes. 

"That what you say to the vamps, Faith? 'Fight fair!' Have to say it's an interesting way of taking them out — making them laugh themselves to death." 

Still about fifteen feet away from the action, Elizabeth and Giles were comparing notes. She explained, "Faith isn't usually this bad in a fight. I can't understand why she isn't making a better showing." 

"Could be the lack of oxygen," Giles said, continuing his mental countdown to Faith's inevitable drop into unconsciousness. 

"No. It's probably the Catraxian blows Mom's been delivering," said Annie. 

In what was becoming a familiar move, Giles and Elizabeth turned in perfect synchronization to look at Annie. She said, "I beg your pardon?" 

Without looking away from her mother, she answered, "Catraxian blows. Mom spent a couple of years learning them. Hit a person in the right sequence and the right cadence, and you can set up a kind of spasm in their muscles and nerves that slows them down long enough for you to kill them." 

The silence from the two Watchers was deafening until she added in a thoughtful tone, "But I'm pretty sure she won't kill Faith." 

As he processed Annie's comments, Giles realized it was a minor miracle no one had called the police as yet. As well, if Faith and Buffy were going to patrol that evening, as planned, they needed to be in good shape, not wrung out from fighting each other. 

He walked up to Buffy and said, "Let her go." 

Without glancing at him, she said, "Not until she asks." 

"Do you really want to patrol alone tonight?" 

At that, she looked up at him, confused, and said, "What do you mean? She'll be fine. A little oxygen deprivation never hurt anyone." 

He raised an eyebrow and said, "What about Catraxian blows?" 

Buffy risked a quick look at Annie before she said, "I can't believe my own daughter ratted me out." 

"That's what comes of raising a child to be honest," he answered, not in the least bit sympathetic. "If you don't mind, I'd like to get back to the flat so we can have something to eat. You and Faith can play tomorrow, if you like." 

Buffy eased the pressure on Faith's neck and said to her, "Mom and Dad say we have to go in now. Same time tomorrow?" 

Finally feeling a bit more like herself again, Faith took advantage of Buffy's momentary lapse in attention and flipped her over her shoulder, watching with satisfaction as she bounced once on the soft turf. "Sure thing, JJ," she said with a big smile. 

'Maybe this Sunnydale gig won't be so bad after all,' Faith thought, turning away to join her Watcher. 

_to be continued..._


	10. Changing of the Guard Part 3

**Changing of the Guard - Part 3**

"I miss Buffy," Willow said quietly. 

A week after Buffy's return, she and Oz were in his van outside The Bronze. They were supposed to meet up with Xander and Cordelia inside, but she hadn't made any attempt to get out of the front seat. She'd been fairly subdued for several days, and that evening, she was more down than she'd been at school earlier. 

Oz took her hand in his and said, "We can swing by Giles' place, if you want. Say hi." 

"I miss our Buffy," she said, her emphasis on the word "our" indicating her true state of mind. 

He frowned slightly at that and said, "She's our Buffy. Giles said." 

Her pout deepened to the point where he wondered if she was about to cry, and she answered, "Our Buffy wouldn't go around threatening friends if they said the wrong thing to her mom. Our Buffy would have let us go on patrol with her last night. Our Buffy wouldn't be treating us like kids." 

Oz thought about that for a moment, then said, "So you miss high school Buffy." 

"I miss my friend," she corrected. And yes, he thought, there was that tell-tale quaver in her voice that signaled impending tears. 

"She's still your friend, Will, but you're going to have to work a little harder to reconnect," he said, moving enough so that he could put his arm around her and hold her close. "She's been through a lot. Her priorities are different. She just wants to keep us safe." 

Willow pulled away from him at that, a hint of anger coming into her voice and expression, and she said, "It's not that. Did you see the way she and Cordelia were getting along that first night? Four months ago, she could barely stand to be around her, and now they're like best buds or something." 

Pausing as he always did before saying anything, Oz considered what she'd just said, the way she'd been acting and the fact that he could smell her moods — the last adding a certain amount of low-level anxiety to his state of mind, because really, the ability to smell an emotion was disturbing. When he came to a tentative conclusion, he asked, "Are you jealous of Cordelia?" 

She stiffened immediately and said, "No! Yes — I don't know. Maybe. How come Buffy talks to her so much more easily?" 

"Maybe because I'm not treating her like she's about to have a mental breakdown," said Cordelia, who was standing next to Willow's door. "Are you two coming inside or what?" 

Willow turned to glare at Cordelia, saying, "That was a private conversation." 

"Then you shouldn't have had it where anyone passing by could hear it. Or you should at least roll up your window so the vampires can't get at you," she answered. Looking around, she added, "Did either of you see Xander going in, or were you too caught up in this week's episode of 'As Sunnydale Turns'?" 

Before Willow could get going, Oz said, "He was here a few minutes ago." 

Without turning back to them, she said, "Thanks. See you inside." 

Oz knew there would be a minor explosion of sorts, and he didn't have long to wait for it. "How can you be so nice to her? You know what she's like. She's mean, and she wouldn't know how to be polite if her life depended on it. And how did you know Xander passed by? I didn't see him. And speaking of Xander, I don't know what he sees in her. I just —" 

Oz stopped her by the simple expedient of kissing her. After a minute, her heart started racing again, but for an entirely different reason. When he pulled back, he said softly, "I was polite, because I think Cordelia might have been right. You and Xander and even Giles have all kind of been walking on eggshells around Buffy, and I don't think she appreciates it. I think she prefers it when people speak their mind, and that's what Cordelia does." 

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ears, and she leaned into his hand, still unhappy, but somewhat calmer. She murmured, "What about Xander?" 

"Caught his scent when we pulled up," he said, a small smile on his lips as he watched Willow respond to his touch. "And I think he likes Cordelia, because she's respectable." 

"I'm respectable," she said, her eyes closed as she enjoyed the feel of Oz's hand in her hair. 

"Yeah. But you're sister-respectable, not girl-from-the-right-side-of-the-tracks respectable. Cordelia makes him believe he doesn't have to live his parents' life," he said softly, just before kissing her again. 

It was a few more minutes before they separated, and when they did, Oz smiled at her and asked, "Ready to go in?" 

~*~*~

Rupert Giles was feeling very much like he was adrift at sea, and it had nothing to do with the rather difficult introduction of Faith and Buffy earlier that day. Rather, it was because in just a week, his world had been upended, and he was starting to feel the effects of the strain. 

Without question, he was overjoyed to have Buffy back, but she wasn't the same child he'd grown to know and respect. She was an adult who was more comfortable in her skin than he was in his, and that was wrong in some indefinable fashion. Or if it wasn't wrong, it was damned unfair as far as he was concerned. 

Also unfair was the fact that she confused him now more than she ever had when she was a teenager. Given her age, he should feel more at ease around her. Instead, he found himself becoming slightly jumpy whenever she entered the room. He tried to convince himself it was simply her appearance. Her hair and scars presented a formidable picture of a woman who looked feral and dangerous, though he knew quite well the danger wasn't to him. 

But it was more than that, and he knew it. There had always been a certain edge to her personality, though she managed to keep it hidden much of the time behind inane chatter about boys and the latest fashions. When she patrolled, however, that edge had inevitably crept out, and it allowed her to do her job and do it well. And then the edge would creep back behind the facade of normalcy, and he would be dealing with a seemingly ordinary teenager again. 

'Perhaps that's the problem,' he thought, as he finished putting the last of the dishes away. 'She's no longer hiding so much behind the persona of a normal person. She's allowing us to see her as she is, not as she might have wished to be.' 

"Penny for you thoughts," said the object of his speculations. She stood just inside the doorway to the kitchen, and as she looked at him with more than a little concern, he felt as if she had put him under the microscope and was examining him quite thoroughly. 

Disconcerted by her attention — it was completely uncharacteristic of the girl he'd known a few months earlier — he busied himself with rinsing the sink and wiping down the counter as he said, "Oh, nothing in particular." 

"No offense, Giles, but you looked like you had the weight of the world on your shoulders for a minute there," she said, not letting it go. He found himself longing for the days when she would dismiss him out of hand and leave him to his own devices. This Buffy, however, seemed disinclined to permit him to get lost in his thoughts. 

Staring at the dishrag in his hand, he started once or twice to speak, then gave up for a moment to take a deep breath before saying, "I'm still trying to reconcile my memories of who you were with who you are." 

When she didn't respond, he stammered out, "I'll get used to the changes eventually, but for now, I find I'm still stumbling over the fact that you're an adult." 

Softly, she responded, "I thought you'd gotten on that wagon a few days ago." She sounded disappointed in him, and he felt absurdly guilty that he hadn't quite managed to get with the program. 

He laughed slightly, and it had a hint of self-mockery to it. "No. Not really. I'm a very good actor, you see. I can pretend with the best of them." 

"What will it take to help you get over the changes?" He risked a glance at her and saw curiosity mixed in with a bit of anxiety. 

Oddly, it was the slight defensiveness in her voice that made him feel that perhaps she was feeling at least as off-balance as he was. Feeling a bit more sure of himself, he said, "Time, I expect, will take care of the problem for me." 

She nodded, looking thoughtful, then said, "Faith, Elizabeth and Annie are ready." 

At that, he frowned, saying, "Are you sure Annie should go? I realize she's a fighter and all, but —" 

"But nothing, Watcher-mine," she said with a smile. "Annie's older than Willow and Xander were when they started tagging along, and she's a lot stronger and faster than they are. Plus, she had the benefit of learning from some of the best fighters in the multi-verse. She'll be fine." 

Realizing she wouldn't be swayed, he nodded his uneasy acceptance and left the dishrag draped over the faucet. "Let me get my bag, and we'll head out," he said, following her to the living room. 

~*~*~

Xander returned to the small seating area carrying drinks for everyone. As he passed them around, he said, "So. What's the plan for tonight? Buffy should be starting patrol soon. We could catch up with her." 

"Please. I just got a manicure today. Do you think I want to ruin it for some stupid fledgling?" Cordelia took a sip of her drink and sat back, watching for Willow's reaction to her complete failure to follow the Scooby partyline. 

Willow just rolled her eyes, not rising to the challenge. She settled back into the sofa after accepting a cup from Xander and took comfort in Oz's light embrace, saying, "Anyway, Buffy said she didn't want us going, remember?" 

Xander handed a cup to Oz and took a seat next to Cordelia before saying, "Like that ever stopped us before? Come on, Will. We're the Scoobies. We run headlong into danger without stopping to think, 'Hey! This is stupid!'" 

Willow shrugged and said, "Whatever. I still don't think she wants us around." 

"Probably not, especially with that new Slayer coming to town today," Cordelia said offhandedly. Her statement, which left Willow and Xander both doing goldfish impressions, was followed by, "Oh. My. God. What the hell was Aura thinking when she decided to wear that outfit?" 

Just as she was about to stand up and confront the former Cordette, Xander pulled her back and said, "Excuse me, but what? What are you talking about?" 

Still distracted by the sight of Aura, she said, "That outfit! It looks horrible on her, and I can't —" 

"Cordy! Focus! What new Slayer?" Xander was praying for patience, because getting Cordelia Chase back on topic when there a huge fashion faux pas in the room was a lot harder than it should be. 

"I don't know — Charity, Hope, Faith — one of the virtues. Buffy told me she and her Watcher were due in today," Cordelia said, looking mildly disgusted even though Aura had left her line of sight a few moments earlier. 

Willow, still upset that she'd been eavesdropping on her conversation with Oz earlier, asked as disparagingly as possible, "And when did Buffy share that information with you?" 

The tone of voice caught Cordelia's attention at last, and she looked at Willow, saying, "Yesterday, when I stopped by Giles' place to talk to her about getting her hair taken care of." 

"You stopped at Giles' place?" Xander was beyond confused and well into the realm of The Twilight Zone. Cordelia never stopped by Giles' place unless she was dragged there kicking and screaming all the way. She was always afraid she'd get sucked into doing some extracurricular research that she couldn't even mention on her college applications. 

"Sure. Before I picked you up for school. I wanted to let her know that Delia said she could see her in a couple of days, which is pretty incredible, because I know people who have had to wait months to get an appointment with her," she said, looking considerably more animated now that she was talking about something that interested her. Her dramatic delivery of the news continued with, "Delia said that hair like Buffy's would be a major challenge, because she'd have to try to cut it without having to shave it all off." 

Oz raised a single eyebrow at that and asked, "You had time for a conversation about hair and a new Slayer before school?" 

Missing the mild sarcasm entirely, she answered, "It wasn't easy, and I still don't think Buffy gets what an honor it is for Delia to take her on such short notice, but yeah." 

Outraged, Willow's face was flushed when she said, "See? That's what I mean. Our Buffy never would have told Cordelia something like that —" 

"Hey! Sitting right here!" 

Undeterred by her interruption, Willow continued, "She would have told me or Xander first, or both of us together. Instead, she's all comfy-cozy with Cordelia. I want our Buffy back." 

"And I suppose that means whiny, oh-look-how-terrible-my-life-is-pity-me Buffy, right?" Cordelia stood up and continued, "I like adult Buffy. She doesn't try to pretend she's something she's not, and she says what's on her mind." 

Willow started to say, "We're her friends —" 

Unwilling to cut the other girl any slack, Cordelia broke in with, "If you can't deal with who she is, what kind of friend does that make you?" 

"Cordy —" Xander stood up and tried to put a calming hand on her shoulder. 

"Forget it," she said, shrugging him off. "If you want to baby-sit Willow's pout, go right ahead. I have other things to do." 

"That's pretty harsh," Oz said, working to remain calm. Anger seemed to awaken the wolf within, and he really didn't want to get into a canine frame of mind at the moment. 

"Well so was Buffy's life for the last twenty years," Cordelia said. "Or weren't you paying attention?" 

Willow stood up at that and leaned forward, getting into Cordelia's face. "I was paying attention —" 

"Then why are you complaining about wanting the old Buffy back? She's gone, Willow. She disappeared in Hell, and she's not coming back. The sooner you get that, the sooner we get to stop listening to you whine." Cordelia opened her mouth again, then closed it, shaking her head. "I'm leaving, Xander. If you want a ride, you'll have to come along." 

Torn yet again between his girlfriend and his best friend, Xander hesitated only a moment before saying, "Will, Oz — I'll talk to Cordy. I'm sure she didn't mean it." He turned quickly to follow in his girlfriend's wake. 

As he left, Willow said quietly, "Sure she meant it." 

"Willow —" 

Looking into Oz's eyes, she tried to smile at him but failed miserably in the attempt. "I'm being selfish. I'm only thinking about myself, not Buffy." 

Oz took a deep breath before saying, "It's hard on everyone." 

Willow looked down at her feet and mumbled, "Doesn't seem to be hard on Cordelia." 

"She wasn't close to high school Buffy like you were, so yeah, it's easier for her," he said. "But you'll get to know adult Buffy soon enough, and then you can be friends again." 

It was several moments before Willow looked up at him and said, "You think?" 

Oz smiled at her then, reminding her forcibly that of all the reasons she loved him, his smile was at the top of her list. He said, "I don't think. I know." 

~*~*~

It was the last cemetery of the night, and Giles and Elizabeth stood several yards away from the others, watching as Faith and Buffy finished off a group of vampires. The fight had started out with just two, but as they were dusted, more arrived to engage the Slayers. Annie had been instructed to keep an eye out for latecomers to the fight and to deal with them accordingly. She hadn't had much to do, though it was clear from her stance and vigilance that she knew well how to guard a perimeter. 

"I'm still having trouble with the notion that she would want her daughter standing right there," Elizabeth said. She had made what she thought were a number of solid arguments against Annie coming along, and Miss Summers ignored every last one of them, politely and thoroughly putting Elizabeth in her place. While she didn't expect unquestioning obedience from Mr. Giles' Slayer, she thought her concerns merited a bit more respect than being pushed aside without further discussion. 

Slightly stung by the mild rebuke, Giles found himself in the position of defending Buffy's decision when he still wasn't entirely certain he agreed with it. "She wants Annie to understand how the local vampire population functions and reacts. She wants her to be able to respond appropriately to lessen the danger for her when she's out on her own." 

"This isn't a job for civilians, Mr. Giles," she said, wincing as a vampire stumbled away from Faith and into Annie before she could move out of the way. 

Watching as the young woman regained her balance and engaged the vampire, Giles did an admirable job of keeping his voice level when he answered, "As a veteran of a civil war, Miss Douglas, Annie is hardly a civilian. Look — she's doing quite well." 

A moment later, the vampire had her on the ground, giving lie to Giles' assertion, and he and Elizabeth moved as one to go help her. Before they could take a second step, Annie had regained the dominant position and staked the vampire. 

Elizabeth asked, "Why did Annie jump away so quickly?" 

"She's allergic to vampire dust," he said absently. The fight was going as well as anyone could hope for, though Giles suspected Buffy might, by this time, be holding back somewhat, either to give Faith the opportunity to take out more of their foes or to assess her skills. He made a mental note to ask her later. 

"The daughter of a Slayer is allergic to vampire dust?" Elizabeth was torn between laughing at the notion and continuing to berate him about Annie's presence in the cemetery. In the end, she did neither. For one thing, Annie had done remarkably well for an ordinary human. She hadn't panicked when the vampire had her on the ground, and she'd regained the upper hand. It was more than could be said of Faith during her first few outings as the Slayer. 

An inability to stop watching Faith was the other reason Elizabeth remained quiet. She was improving by leaps and bounds with Miss Summers at her side, and whether the reason was to prove herself or because the older Slayer was providing an excellent role model, she didn't know. Nor did she care. Elizabeth was firmly of the opinion that any improvements in Faith's fighting and focus were to be applauded and nurtured. 

The battle was essentially over within another five minutes, though Faith and Buffy both had to give chase to the two vampires who decided to run rather than continue to fight. Annie followed her mother through the cemetery, and Giles and Elizabeth were left on their own. She asked, "Will you follow Miss Summers?" 

"No. She'll be back once she stakes it. Nights like this, when the moon is new or hidden behind clouds, it's easier to pick a spot and wait," he said, moving to a decrepit bench in front of a crypt and taking a seat. 

Elizabeth joined him at the bench and sat down, saying, "I'm glad you requested our transfer here. Though Faith wasn't pleased about coming here, I can already see an improvement in her form and control from just the other night." 

He reached down to pull off his shoe and shook out a stone that had lodged inside, then put it back on before saying, "I suspect there's a bit of showmanship involved. I saw the same thing when Kendra came to town. Both she and Buffy did considerably better when each was trying to prove to the other how good she was." 

"Poor Kendra," she said, remembering the mix of terror, elation and grief she'd felt when she discovered that Faith had been called. "I sent a card to Mr. Zabuto when I found out. I never did hear back from him." 

Giles hesitated for a moment, then said, "I don't imagine he was in any shape to accept condolences. Buffy's death was so brief that I wasn't aware of it until afterward, yet the thought of it is still enough to chill me to the bone." 

"You don't agree with the notion that a Watcher should be distant from her Slayer, then?" She asked the question without thought, and as soon as it was spoken, she wanted to take it back. Though Quentin had assured her that Faith wouldn't be removed from her care, she still felt her position was precarious. Should Mr. Giles report — 

"It's complete nonsense, if you ask me," he said, clearly unaware of her minor panic attack. "They send us out to teach these girls to fight and to record their achievements, then tell us we're not supposed to care about them? It's absurd to assume that a Watcher-Slayer team can be successful without mutual trust and respect, and both are impossible to achieve without some kind of emotional involvement." 

Elizabeth breathed easier on hearing his words, but she had to be certain. She said, "We're taught that remaining distant is easier for everyone concerned, given that the Slayer dies and is replaced." 

At that, he turned slightly with a quizzical look on his face and asked, "Can Faith be replaced?" 

"Of course not!" Her anger was sudden and hot, and it was diffused almost immediately by the sound of his chuckle. 

"My point, exactly. While it's true that there's always a new Slayer called to carry the burden, the girl who died can never be replaced," he said. He paused for a moment then added quietly, almost guiltily, "It didn't take long after my appointment to Sunnydale to start seeing Buffy as — well — as a daughter of sorts." 

"Thank God I'm not the only one," she blurted out. 

Eyebrows raised, he said as blandly as possible, "Oh?" 

Grateful the dark night hid her blush, she answered, "Yes, alright. I see Faith as a daughter. It's hard not to, when a potential moves in with you." 

Giles said, "I imagine the situation was difficult and painful when Council launched an investigation." 

"Faith was enraged, to put it mildly," she said, "though her anger was nothing compared to what I was feeling. I'd spent three years rebuilding her trust in humanity, three years helping her to reconcile with her history, three years teaching her that she counted for something, and then —" She broke off, unable to continue without losing her temper completely. 

After a few moments, Giles sighed heavily and said, "I've been trying to think of a gentle way to tell you this, and I haven't been able to come up with a single idea, so I'll just come out with it. Quentin Travers will be here tomorrow." 

She nodded ruefully and said, "Yes, I knew he was coming to Sunnydale. He mentioned it when he called to tell me that we were to move here. I plan to keep Faith well away from him." 

"That sounds like a good idea," he said, looking down at the ground. Hesitantly, he added, "I'm worried that I may be ordered back to England." 

Elizabeth looked at him sharply and said, "What? They wouldn't. You're Miss Summers' Watcher." 

"Travers wasn't happy to hear that she wished to step down from her duties," he said softly. It wasn't until she saw how tightly clenched his hands were that she realized just how much control he was exerting over himself to keep from flying apart at the seams. "I inferred from his comments that as she no longer wished to be the Slayer, she no longer needed a Watcher." 

"He —" She stopped herself, then continued, "I was about to say he couldn't possibly believe that, but that isn't true, is it?" She thought she understood, now, the tension she'd been sensing from him since their arrival. With that hanging over his head, it was no wonder that — 

"I haven't had the heart to tell Buffy yet," he said, breaking into her thoughts. 

"Mr. Giles, you have to tell her," she said, shocked that he'd kept such significant news from his Slayer. 

"I know," he said, sounding discouraged. "It's just — unless Travers decides to get difficult, I won't —" 

"Yo E!" Giles and Elizabeth looked up to see Faith strutting toward them. A flash of teeth told them both she'd been successful. "Where's JJ and JJ Junior?" 

"Who's JJ?" Buffy and Annie approached from another direction, looking relaxed and happy, though neither was filled with quite as much post-slayage enthusiasm as Faith. 

With a smirk firmly in place, she answered, "You are — Jungle Jane, remember?" 

Buffy stared at Faith until the younger woman lost a bit of her cockiness. She said in a polite and firm tone, "I answer to Buffy or Miss Summers or Mrs. Fitzgerald. I do not answer to anything else. Got it?" 

"Um, yeah. Sure," Faith said. 

In an effort to dispel her discomfort at being chastised in such a manner that she couldn't find a way to take exception, Faith started twirling her stake in the manner of a gunslinger of the Old West, every so often tossing it up then catching it. She was still doing this when she casually asked, "What's there to do in a town like Sunnydale?" 

Buffy answered easily, "There's a dance club — The Bronze — it's downtown, and mostly high school and college students go there." She walked over to Giles' weapon bag, still sitting where he'd left it earlier, and dropped her short sword into it before picking it up and carrying it to him. 

"What's the music like?" Faith sounded dubious, though Elizabeth was happy to hear that it seemed to cater to a younger crowd. 

"Depends on the night," Buffy said. "On Fridays and Saturdays, they get local bands in — some grunge, some goth, some techno. It's a mix." 

Faith thought about it for a moment then said, "Sounds like a plan. Me and Annie can go check it out." 

The look on Miss Summers' face made Elizabeth bite her cheek to keep from laughing. She had no problem taking her daughter out to stake vampires, but the moment someone suggested a social venue, she panicked. Though, as she thought about it, her concerns were more valid than they seemed to be at first blush. It was unlikely that Annie had very much contact — if at all — with children her own age when she was growing up. She was about to suggest to Faith that she go alone when Mr. Giles spoke up. 

"It would be a chance for her to get to know some of the teenagers in town. And you know that Xander, Willow and the others will probably be there," he said, sounding reasonable. 

Annie, her excitement barely contained, said, "Please, Mom?" Elizabeth was amazed that she seemed so willing to jump into an unknown situation. Then again, it was possible that ignorance played the larger role in her seeming lack of anxiety. 

"You're not exactly dressed for it," she answered, looking skeptically at Annie's lime green sweater and her hot pink slacks. 

"No prob," Faith said, moving to put her arm around Annie. "I got a clubbing shirt I bust out of at all the right places. She's kinda smaller than me, so it should fit her just fine. Best part? It goes with her slacks." 

"Well —" 

Elizabeth, suspecting that Mr. Giles would prefer to speak to Buffy without an audience, said, "I know the shirt, Miss Summers. I believe it will, in fact, fit Annie quite nicely. And truthfully, I would be grateful in the extreme if you were to forget to return it to Faith." 

"Hey!" 

~*~*~

When Buffy and Giles returned to his flat alone — Annie having gone with Faith — she turned to him just as he closed the door and said, "Okay, this time it's for real. I was willing to buy your story earlier that you were having a hard time getting used to me again, but that doesn't explain why you were so down when Annie and I got back from chasing that vamp. What gives?" 

Feeling trapped and off balance by her sudden interrogation, he blurted out, "It's possible that I might be ordered back to England." 

The change in her was remarkable. In the blink of an eye, she'd gone from a concerned woman to a general ready to study her enemy and plot his demise. That her attitude could change so quickly and easily unnerved Giles, even as he found himself pleased that she apparently objected to the possibility of him leaving. 

All business, she asked, "Why?" 

Relieved, now that the burden of keeping his concern to himself was gone, he explained quietly, "You've chosen to step away from your duties as the Slayer. Mr. Travers, the man coming here tomorrow, was less than pleased with your decision. He feels — that is — I think he feels that if you aren't an active Slayer, you don't need a Watcher." 

He could see a muscle along her jawline contracting as she took in what he said, and then he heard, "Would you go to England if he told you to?" 

"No!" He went over to her and took her hands in his, saying, "If I'm ordered back, I shall resign from the Council and remain here. There may, however, be a problem with that plan." 

She relaxed when he told her that he would stay then tensed up again as she asked, "What problem?" 

"The Watchers' Council is very old, and it has political connections everywhere," he said, careful to maintain a neutral tone of voice. Now was not the time to get her worked up. "If our meeting tomorrow goes badly, it's possible Travers may decide to punish you by having me deported. And before you ask, yes, they could manage that quite easily." 

She stared at him for a long while before asking, "When were you going to tell me?" 

He couldn't continue to look at her, so he looked at their hands, mildly surprised she hadn't pulled away. "I wanted to talk to you last night, truly. I just couldn't bring myself to do it. You've been through so much —" 

He shook his head, cutting off his attempt to justify himself, and said, "I realize it's no excuse for my cowardice." 

It wasn't until she ducked low enough to catch his gaze again that he saw a hint of wry humor in her eyes. "You're talking to the former poster child of denial, so I get where you were coming from. But Giles? Don't pull this crap again. I need to know if there's a problem on the horizon if we're going to have a chance to fix it," she said. 

Feeling chastised and contrite, he took a deep breath and said, "I promise to keep you informed from now on if there are any other potential problems." 

Still holding his hands, she started backing up toward the couch and said, "Okay, Doofus —" 

"I say!" 

She flashed him a grin before continuing, "You did something of the stupid, so you get to wear the stupid name for a while." 

With a pained expression on his face, he said, "'Doofus'?" 

Ignoring his complaint, she said, "As I started to say, it's time for a little strategy session so you and I can figure out what to do about Travers and the Watchers' Council. Now sit down and tell Aunt Buffy all about the big bad man." 

He joined her on the couch and shot her a dirty look before saying, "I realize I behaved like an imbecile in not telling you of my worries, but must you rub it in?" 

She raised her eyebrows at his tone and said, "Yes, actually. I must. I enjoy rubbing it in. I'm totally into the concept of 'told you so.' In fact —" 

Interrupting her before she could go further, he said, "In other words, you would rather make my life miserable than talk about tomorrow?" 

"You know, you're no fun when someone points out the error of your ways," she said. When his only response was a glare, she added on a sigh, "Fine. Strategy. Let's talk about what will make Travers happy without requiring me to be on patrol every night." 

_to be continued...at my Web site, www.elementalvision.org._

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** FanFiction.net recently pulled one of my stories without so much as a warning or an opportunity to pull it down myself. Though this isn't the first time I've been frustrated with FF.net, it will be the last time. Over the next couple of weeks, I will be pulling my stories from the site. This is the last update of "All Shall Be Well" that I will make at FF.net, and the story will be pulled by March 1, 2004. 

This does not mean that I've stopped writing. My stories are archived at my own Web site, Elemental Vision [www.elementalvision.org], and I still post at Twisting the Hellmouth [www.tthfanfic.com]. Should you wish to continue receiving update alerts on my stories, you are more than welcome to join my update list; the address can be found at my author's page here. This is a notification list only, and I'm the only one who can post to it. I keep subscriber names hidden for privacy. 

Thank you for your interest in my stories, and thank you for your time. 

Warmest regards, 

Tara Keezer 


End file.
